The Warrior shrugged, he'd heard it before,
This con' that smart dudes, of whom he was christened one,
Could rake in the millions while idiots slept,
But hey, did he want to be Croesus in drag?
The gawky kid in his heart of hearts, wasn't a killer at all,
For he liked the old bugger who lived next door,
And helped him to feed his cat …
What's your angle? He asked again,
So Stumpy sighed and took out a pad
To draw his dream for the kid. He was no artist
But a sketch emerged, like a spider's thoughts gone mad,
Of worlds tied to worlds by a thread of fate
Or, here he paused, by the gossamer waves of a net.