The Sting That glance Stole the pin Hand grenades and hearts Fantasy fleshed into Open flirt, height of incredible Monogamy, slave master Too good to be, true in my head Making the puppet show One string danced tonight Crossroads and cracked knuckles Loosened by that second Eyes dished out adultery Springing from wells, self-tainting One chosen, or stained glass Fragment into more reeling As I spin in my webbed skull The fly, the spider, and suicide