“The problem was, she had a little Black book”…

~

On his hands and knees he’s praying…
But will not be redeemed…
The accusations levelled so compelling…
But nothing’s ever really as it seems…
 
He failed to convince the jury…
His story just didn’t add up…
The sentence passed was binding…
He’s about to drink from Death’s dark cup…
 
Still claims to be an innocent man…
If there ever was such a thing…
But his memory of the night is distorted…
Though he remembers paying her for a fling…
 
His DNA was found in and around her…
As she lay face down on the bed…
Two holes exist where the bullets passed through…
Moments after being laid, she was dead…
 
Still he protests that he wasn’t the one…
Despite overwhelming proof…
He claims he was set up by the FBI…
And that they covered up the shocking truth…
 
But no one really believed him…
Or his claims of conspiracy…
And he’s spent so long in confinement…
The truth has been cemented in history…
 
He spent his last day in isolation…
They served him a drink and final meal…
The guards allowed in a priest and his lawyer…
The walk to Death’s chamber such an ordeal…
 
They strapped him to the waiting chair…
Three injections so lethal, all carefully prepared…
The victim’s family assembled to bare witness…
This condemned man protesting and scared…
 
On his hands and knees he was praying…
Hoping someday he would be believed…
He never did pull the trigger…
They” lied and “They” simply deceived…
~

2 responses to ““The problem was, she had a little Black book”…

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