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It crawls on his back, won't ever let him be |
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Stares at the walls until the cinder blocks can breathe |
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His eyes have gone away, escaping over time |
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He rules a crowded nation inside his mind |
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He knows that night like his hand |
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He knows every move he made |
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Late shift, the bell that rang, a time card won't fade |
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10:05 his truck pulled home |
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10:05 he climbed his stair |
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About the time he was accused of being there |
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But I'm not the man |
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He goes free as I wait on the row for the man |
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To test the rope, he'll slip around my throat and silence me |
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On the day he was tried, no witness testified |
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Nothing but evidence, not hard to falsify |
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His own confession was a prosecutor's prize |
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Made up of fear, of rage and of outright lies |
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But I'm not the man |
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He goes free as the candle vigil glows |
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As they burn my clothes |
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As the crowd cries, "Hang him slow!" |
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And I feel my blood go cold, he goes free |
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Call out the K K K, they're wild after me |
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And with that frenzied look of half-demented zeal |
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They'd love to serve me up my final meal |
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Who'll read my final rite and hear my last appeal? |
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Who struck this devil's deal? |
