margin

On a knifes edge I run today,
with the devils on my tail.
No Left, No Right can I miss
No time for breath
No time to wait,
...but not yet the time for haste.

Every movement is to be measured
Every step is to be placed.
For if this is to be well played
I shall hav'ta lead the perfect hunter
Posing as his bait.

This web to be woven
I cast not the strand
The game to be played
Is to foul the spider in there web.