The Show From Death Row

Eye for eye; tooth for tooth, Age old key to old hitch, Justice’s way; known from youth, Consciences’ vexing itch. Few know death’s row bower, Lowly know its bare scene, Some escape through power, Rich blood trumps poor man genes. Time goes in ticks and tocks, Hits midnight and then chimes, From the jail house wall clock, Cell opens for last time. Con, warden, and guard walk, Chaplain reads from St. John, Not much need for small talk, Judgment due; praying done. Go on stage behind glass, Viewers wait for the show, To see con breathe his last, Justice’s false golden glow. Curtain pulls, they walk out, Press reports; mourner’s cry, No joy or vict’ry shouts, All left to question why.