When I was six,

Dry mud on my fingertips,

I ran over a toad

With my bike on a mysterious, concrete road.

It had hopped right in front of me

And felt like pebble under the tire, you see.

But I had known instantly what I’d done

That dark afternoon with very, little sun.

I had been peddling so fast, to see if I could fly

Instead in seconds, I killed the little guy.

I hit my brakes immediately, And cried and cried

For I was now a murderer; no matter how hard I tried.

My mother caught up and held me in her arms

Trying to convince me that I had done no real harm.

But I know the truth, and anyone else as guilty as thee,

I’ll hate and hate forever, with very little apology.