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in the Web
A spider lives in the web of Wyrd, weaving its threads as he wills.
He lays down tripwires for unwary feet, and laughs when we fall on our faces.
He gives strife to the Kindred in the mead-hall of life, building a fire for our hands,
But if we put our hands in is it our fault or his? We knew it was hot 'fore we touched it.
He travels the skies of Midgard's realm, searching the valleys and hills.
He finds all the children who run crooked paths, and ties their tangled shoelaces.
He grants all their wishes for power and might, and meets all their selfish demands.
Then when they cry he looks in their eyes and says, "It's not my fault. You asked for it."
We all know the game of the spider of Wyrd, whom we blame for all our ills.
But he only springs traps we've set for ourselves, then vanishes leaving no traces.
When we call to the Gods to ask for revenge, he's run home to his wife's faithful hands;
Then they'll both laugh at his practical joke and say, "See the fools, Honey? They fell for it."
So the next toast you raise to All-father Odin, give Loki his share as well.
If you don't he might just knock at your door, and put you through all your paces.
He'll turn every twist and twist every turn, 'til you never know where you may land,
Until you fall down with your face in the dirt, and the Trickster's voice singing, "You blew it"
Open Clip Art Library, which released it explicitly into the
CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
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