The spider, her small form above
the bed where I lay to sleep
Her thin legs carry her
in circles, in zigzags
with fine silk behind her
She weaves and she moves
silent, intently
she spins and she weaves
she spins and she weaves
the stuff of my dreams

Many have slept, but not all
Many have awakened, but not all
The world never sleeps?
Not all

As the sun rises, it sets
As the sun sets, it rises
As the moon rises, it sets
As the moon sets, it rises

So tell me, dear, does the world sleep?
Does it rest, so not a thing is awake?
But you have said: the sun always rises
Always sets

The world is always awake
The world is always asleep
How can that be?
It can be
Because the world is a ball