Spinning, spinning, spinning
Weaving, weaving, weaving
The pattern we've designed will soon be hanging by a thread.
Fate.
Build, build, build
Only to be torn apart by...
Human nature? Or something that we seem to call...
Trust?
Mistrust, I should say.
I've given myself to our work and you're blowing me away.
The web that we've created holds nothing for us but disaster.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We can be our own worst enemy at times. Wonderful descriptive write! ; D