NCADP & 10,000 Maniacs
He knows that night like his hand.
He knows every move he made.
Late shift, the bell that rang, a time card won’t fade.
10:05 his truck pulled home.
10:05 he climbed his stair, about the time he was accused of being there.
He goes free as I wait on the row for the man to test the rope he’ll slip around my throat…
And silence me.
On the day he was tried no witnesses testified.
Nothing but evidence, not hard to falsify.
His own confession was a prosecutor’s prize,
Made up of fear, of rage and of outright lies.
He goes free as the candle vigil glows, as they burn my clothes.
As the crowd cries, “Hang him slow!”; and I feel my blood go cold, he goes free.
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