Ariadne is a monster
Weaving tales and pulling strings
To construct a Labyrinth,
Fashioned of lies and practiced deceits,
The walls of malleable, guided words
Are covered by alibis, hard as rock,
Which twist around to take you back,
Back to where you started from.

She keeps a man trapped inside,
A man she’s named a monster.
She keeps him as a scapegoat
And blames it all on him.
A Minotaur they call him, terrible and fierce,
Horns, teeth, and flame-red eyes,
She’s given them all to him.
She keeps him wrapped in love for her,
Makes him do her service,
While promised favours,
Unfulfilled,
Line the road to freedom.

Then she concocts another weave,
A baited trap is built,
With poor Minotaur at the center
And Theseus on the hook.
She draws him in, fast and strong,
Until he’s made her slave
Then directs him toward the Minotaur,
The monster that she’s made.

Then fleetly Ariadne flies to her poor misguided lover,
And spins another tale of passion:
That of her and her Minotaur.
And of Theseus, the wretched prince, she tells him lies and slander,
She remakes violent scenes for him
So he’s in a killing mood,
Then watches the battle with baited breath,
Till brave Minotaur is killed.

It’s but a few days later
When Theseus is dropped,
Her favoured one, her chosen lover,
Is one who can make her a god.