Built For Death

With its legs counting eight
The Spider, full of hate
Constructs its fiendish web
Thee perfect death bed

Awaiting his prey
Til that moment of day
That the Fly navigates to hell
The web his prison cell

Stuggling entagles him more
As the Spider creeps up from the floor
Has the Fly met his maker?
The eight-legged life taker?

Wrapping the Fly up neat
The Spider saves him later for a treat
Fixing the web and adding a patch
The Spider hides again to wait his next catch