I seen them on my spectrum analyser. Those cats who vary their accounts with worn tongues and righteous jowls. I never fixed a device to sift their broken promises. I just rode the punches and waited my turn. I’m told that liars never prosper and that goodness is its own reward, but I’ll cash my chips in now please – I have no faith in karmic law.
Justice broke her ankle on her way to my tribunal. I was out of town recouping my losses, so they hanged me in absentia for crimes that don’t exist. I still bear the scars invisible from that faulty jurisprudence. When rumour becomes evidence the truth dies a grisly death. That first stone cast is as lethal as the last. Only your friends could hone their instruments with such precision and it’s their judgements that draw the most blood. Who cares for the pronouncements of strangers? It’s those you love who deliver the killer blows.
I’m satisfied with the life I’ve led and I’m convinced that my sins are no more grievous than the next man’s. Whatever crimes I actually committed are a matter for my conscience to resolve and not some court of popular opinion. I opt for the mantle of any free man - to learn from my mistakes free from the judgement of my peers.