Plight of Arachne's Daughters

They Call us the weavers of shadow,

taker of life,

bane of those with breath,

outcasts,

with bite of death.

And we are but much more,

than A bug scuttling on the floor.

We are daughters of daughters of those before,

Cursed of Minerva,

whom all spiders abhore.

why did our mother have to die, 

to incur the wrath of the lady on high?

what did she we ask,

to bring such a fate,

to die on a tree,

driven by hate.

No mercy was shown in her saving,

and now we spiders lay slaving.

to fix Arachne's tapestry,

weaving it from silk fine.

furious labor,

and to what end?

we finish one piece and it is swept

cannot one cobweb be kept?

if you are human, show some  humanity,

temper your pride, curb your vanity.

let us weave on, in silence,

least we silence you.

We have our poison,

you have your might

only one way will end our plight,

we, the daughters of Arachne.