The name Arachne was given to me at my birth,

An artful weaver I was amongst the women of Lycia,

And in that art I competed with goddess Athena herself.

But punished I was by the wise-looking maiden Athena

For disrespecting the Olympian gods I was given

The terrible shape of a spider, and my weaving gift

Became the art of weaving webs in the corners.

Humanity has overlived its’ gods,

And Parthenon, grand house of Athena, is in ruins.

Gods gather dust in museums, whilst I weave the delicate shrouds.

Death is alone eternal, and it is my mistress.