loves Theseus~even my mother didn't love
gave him one end of the thread.
And she waits for him, holding the other,
standing patiently at the dark hole where
she saw him
frightened and hopeful, feeling each quiver and jerk of the
thread with fear,
to keep her dearest love from being killed
and eaten by
if I follow the line
shows, white, in the darkness?
Lord sun above me, beyond this mantle of rock~
if I follow the thread, will it lead me back up to the sweet-
the sighing of the sea, back to life, to light, to even
a hope for love under the sky, from this hell ripped away?
it, now, beast!
is so light~so frail~
how could anything so fragile be a promise a beast could
a hope in this slaughterhouse, this fist of stench and
you guide me, one way to my death
at the hands of Theseus, the other to a girl's hands, bright
me, thread. And do not break
I am dead or free.