We are the Weaver, the Web Walkers, The Whisper Of Death. I skitter in the darkness watching your every move and waiting. I bring death in many forms, my bite can kill and has brought many souls to rest. Life is a gift I can snatch away. My song can whisper to my brothers who will come with hunger and excitement in their eyes. We will feast on your flesh while you still cry for your so called Gods. My song can not be heard by your feeble minds and yet here I sit on my web and watching, waiting for you to go to sleep. Then we come and smell your delicious flesh and bite and return to hiding. You mind with twist like your body, breaking and then fading, we will dance and come to clean you to bones. We sit and think, we play with our ancestor's memories and remember the days of sun and catching the wild prey. Again we sift the memories and find the birth of life and countless deaths. We laugh as we recall the fine feedings and the screams of pain, delicious and hungered for. Our mind goes back to the times back when we saw the hairy ones, (Skree-Gore) they were curious and more natural. The talking oh the talking, the frustration and the talking, stop... Mmmmm more memories of the hunt, much more fulfilling and interesting. Oh my large one, don't worry we haven't forgotten about you, I bring the kiss of eternity and you will sleep.