If you can strum on an acoustic
A penchant’s pride will hear you play
A summer’s gale ago, I had a friend who would comply
Of my religion, mind, and state --- of my defect and alibi
But burdened by the walls I’ve noticed, I’ve been alone for quite some time…
The notes you negotiate won’t tremble hysterically, on the brink of intense device
But adequate composition and melody, my friend, will still suffice:

They should serve welfare to the children in the homes deemed perfect white
I never was an advocate of this, though, never much, I tried
If you could mine it with your eyes closed it was gold enough for me
If it took harsh deliberation, it was foreign currency
But I digress, onto the manner of my first accused crime
Raised far too well to ascribe tremors to an uncompassionate design
But should you wake to violent charges and be conditioned like a man
You’ll see the dogs could stage revolt, but that’s Oval Office to slave hand
My muse, frustration, at the manner in which we quantify the chain
You’ll see a beggar plead for pity, but a mutt will not complain
And so beside me they erected something much I did not like
A barricade to shroud brutality, though vulnerable on every side

By now --- I’m sure you’ve realized my name
But if it still eludes you I’ve got plenty more accomplices to blame

Having been deceived by the minister, principal, and my own mother too
I logically began allotting time for my acquaintances to use
But while they claimed their independence they were fettered to a God
Who when employed, traversed the vapid canyon they accepted with its flaws
And though the Catholics claim devotion, with this belief they cannot compete
But I despise the blind adherents so I travelled beat to beat
And thought and thought and thought about it, till thinking made my tongue go numb
And I would press my teeth against it to feel the stringent sting it stung
And I made note in my ambitions not to abscond that innate pain
As future failures did around me, conducting funerals in their brains
So you can imagine my objections when they decided on a whim
To construct a further extension of my existential paradigm

By now --- I’m sure you realized my name
But don’t blink in astonishment there’s much more to this game

And so instead of flowing gently from tributaries to the sea
I spent a generous tuition furthering my apathy
And had I crescendoed in admission without holding pot in hand
I may have won that awful tournament, but instead Jesus took the stand
“She loves Jesus!” cried the host as blue lights exemplified his greed
Though, no that may still be resentment because (while everyone loves Jesus) nobody loves me
And so from then on I wore a top hat on my ever-greying hair
And I must admit I still like to comb it, though, there’s no point, there’s nothing there
And while I’m partial to a party I like to think my hunchback did suffice
And culminated down a trembling cheek in mutual sacrifice
And no rat contests the sincerity of my unforgotten rage
When I learned of renovations for the third side of my cage

By now --- I’m sure you realized my name
But can you speculate the angle of my aim?

Well I endured a manifesto and I came to understand
That while the Fat Men get free drinks it’s skinny men who work the land
And so determined to avoid the plight they called, in my home town, “The Dream”
I mustered up a stern rebellion to justly portray the Fat Mens’ scheme
But when the Sheriff heard the riot from the Mockingbird’s song, he came
And tethered all the men to rifles and had photography arranged
So that he would obtain confessions prior to any brief phone call
As if to prevent us all from saying, “That is not it, not it at all!”
And when I escaped that more pleasant cell back to the ominous recital
I watched a Dark Man dance on headstones, and I proudly took his Title
And first they flattered me as royalty but then started to install
The fourth and final concrete connection of my own prison called ‘”The Wall”

By now ---I’m sure you’ve realized my name
But if you’re still looking for an inkling, please allow me to explain

I shudder in a black room lit ablaze by the inferno of candles crying, “Who?”
They fester in our hesitant moments, maybe you’ve lit one or two
You don’t become the Fallen Angel through a life of poor intent
It’s just a portrait of smooth strokes, concealing what you really represent
By now I’m sure you’ve realized that you’ve learned to despise my name
But the question now, my friend, is might you just end up the same?