The Ballad of the Homicidal Spider

In days of old
A tale was told
Of a scallywag spider
With a mouth that was wider
Than an airplane hold
Into it he’d fold
Fly-soaked pasties
And other nasties
Washed down with a pint of gold.

Why gold, you ask
Well, it was his task
To weave all the cloth in the land
But it all got out of hand
‘Cause he wove and he wove
A gossamer treasure trove
Fine thread did he tangle around
Into a web that did awe and astound
Till all were held within its fold.

Like flies all were trapped
And very well wrapped
Cocooned in the golden snare
Till they could find no more air
They coughed and expired
In threads they got mired
The gilded tomb spelt their end
Woven by their eight-legged friend

The End