What have I done warden?
What is my crime?
Haven’t I already done my time?
What is this meaning of these chains of flesh?
Stopping me from flying,
Into a Spring so fresh.
I thought I was innocent until proven,
to be some other misdemeanor you’ve assigned me.
It's seems to me as if you've made your choice already.
I snicker as I hold the gun steady.
I've been locked away for so long,
Waiting for my trial to come.
The gallows and the executioner's blade sing a rancid song,
echoing into my empty heart.
Who told you that I was a outlaw,
did you happen to catch their name?
I cry out as they swear me in,
Immune to my own shame.
“Is your God real because it is so,
or because you believe and therefore he exists?!
And you fall to your knees before him in shame of your trysts?!”
Throw that book of flawed factors and prophets away,
Theories and inadequatecies, all causing me to stray.
I nearly collapse from the weight of my chains, as I’m lead to the stand,
before a court of my peers, what a mockery.
You could push through the world for a thousand years,
and not find another like me.
You place me on a cart, parade me through the square,
I can still hear them laughing at the state of affairs.
In time, I doubt I can understand, what you ever saw in me.
The world is my betrayer,
murder in the third degree.
Here’s is your silver Judas into your palm,
and smile and watch as the noose sings my song.



User Image