I beg forgiveness, little victim mine.
Before your death, I want your soul to know:
I killed you, not by chance, but by design.

Your way was straight, your purpose was divine,
but purpose can be severed by a blow.
I beg forgiveness, little victim mine.

For as you walked your clear and steady line,
I watched you with the hunger of a crow
and killed you, not by chance, but by design.

Your twitching end imparts an evil sign:
as your octet of legs begins to slow,
I beg forgiveness, little victim mine!

I broke the loom and cut the spreading vine;
I quenched the sun and dammed the river's flow;
I killed you, not by chance, but by design!

For such a guilt there is no anodyne.
As your departing soul begins to flow,
I beg forgiveness, little victim mine:
I killed you, not by chance, but by design.