now i can buy the proverbial gun

and shoot the proverbial child

while my uncle looks me in the eye

and speaks of freedom



and my conscience goes up on trial

in the courtrooms of the mind

where the judges all have sons

and all the lawyers are wounded



and the backs are all broke

and the bailiff is my brother

and the witness is my sister

and i’m guilty as hell



but by the afternoon i’m out

out on the pavement walking

wreaking of salt and blood



no hat upon my head

no shoes upon my feet

picking your body

from my teeth



no stars above me

no stripes upon me

free