Spiders on the fretboard, spiders on the keys,
cobwebs on the drumset sort of swaying in the breeze.
The crowd is caught and spinning, wrapped inside the light.
The house foundation shakes beneath the dark veil of night.

She sips a cold concoction and opens up a door.
She hears a freaky squeak, the likes she's never heard before.
Belly full of butterflies, she scurries down the hall
beneath a ceiling full of spiders that she can't see at all.

When at last she finds the ballroom, she's dizzy from the drink,
and though she's not convinced she's safe, she starts to dance instead of think.
She feels a sort of union with the others spinning there,
a comfort in the cobwebs of the cool evening air.

In the morning she's enlightened,  
and though she's not sure where she's been,
she carries deep inside her 
sweet remnants from a dream.