By Triedbyconscience
Go to sleep, weary offender,
though you’ve not offended more,
those that write the laws don’t listen,
they’ve always got to up the score.
You don’t dare think about tomorrow,
but take a quiet, well-earned rest,
If there’s a God up there in heaven,
he’ll soon clutch you to his chest.
If you pay a thousand years, for the past that you have known,
you’ll never know of mankind’s mercy, for such isn’t shown,
They keep you too poor to live, and much too poor to die,
and hold hostage your family, no matter how they cry.
Go to sleep, weary offender,
for you have your registry,
the ones who cry for your destruction,
will soon be registered, you see.
The hand of justice is a broad one,
though they cry, it’s not for you,
They don’t care ’bout the constitution,
or ’bout anything that’s true.
If you had a hundred lives, they’d still cry out, unsatisfied,
for Justice’s scales are weighted, no matter how you’re tried,
and if you ever get ahead, well, change the law, we’ll see him dead,
and even take away the place, where you lay your head.
So go to sleep, weary offender,
for soon all will be like you,
when power’s wielded against one group,
‘fore too long it will be two.
It doesn’t matter what your rights are,
They cry out, all night and day,
but when it comes to their own offending,
congress will just turn and look away.
What was the purpose of the jail, or prison cells, if freedom fails,
and nations weep inside their sleep, as away from them liberty sails,
and what was the worth of our time,
