Down from the corners, I watch.
Hiding among the dark, I listen.
Sitting behind the reeds, I see it,
I see it all.
The others don't get me,
not at all.
They think I don't care,
that I'm a murderess.
That part might be true,
but what they don't get is that
my paws were not always stained with blood.
Sorry.
I said it, and I'll say it again.
Sorry.
Sorry that I got mad over something that wasn't their fault,
sorry that...
You know what? I'm not sorry.
I need to change.