Crickets creak by a sealed window
Grasshoppers gaze in the darkness
Tides of time erode the surface
Of muddy waters in the bog
The night is still with glaring eyes
From misty corners filled with spies
The spindle fibers on the tales
Of cats and legs of itchy bugs
Scrape up and down upon your skin
An itching contest you will win
If you don’t kill them with giant
Jugs of hate and killer demise
Seeping through the broken skies
Only to destroy evil spies
Yet detonate the lonely ones
Who wonder why their home is gone
The window opens, in they fly
Taking what is rightfully theirs