I thought about the city precinct house
Where fierce corrupt detectives in white shirts
And ties enforced the scared obedience Of those who lived around them in apartments
Prisoners were beaten on the street
Before they even entered to be booked,
And if their fists were sore they used their feet — Through their window secretly I looked
I saw the face of Man, a murderer's
Flushed countenance enflamed with rage and zeal,
And that proud smile of power over other Beings, demon-pleasured ecstasy revealed
But they did not see me as I passed by,
Quickly so as not to draw their minds
Away from their intentions, nor would I
Dare to interfere with their designs
Yet I would remember one they beat
Until he died, cadaver in a cell,
And wonder where the souls of us will meet — In prison purgatory or in hell
For we are all complicit, one to one
Who see a crime of blood and turn aside
As those who left the scene of crucifixion
Saying: It was Christ, not me who died
