The Proverbial Gun

Now I can buy the proverbial gun

And shoot the proverbial child

When my uncle looks me in the eye

And speaks of freedom

My conscience goes up on trial

In the courtrooms of the mind

Where the judges all have sons

And all the lawyers all were dead

And the backs are all broke

And the bailiff is my brother

And the witness is my sister

And I'm guilty as hell

And by the afternoon I'm out

On the pavement walking

Reeking of salt and blood

No hair upon my head

No shoes upon my feet

Picking your body from my teeth

No stars above me

No stripes upon me

Free