If tomorrow booted goons came to silence my free speech,
If in the night I found myself imprisoned for my beliefs,
The saddest thing would not be my arrest, but that
Friends like you would sit by and say, Well she did bring it on herself.
Oh, you might wring your hands when the executioner comes,
And you might pray for my poor soul’s repose,
But the saddest thing is you’ve watched democracy poisoned
And opened wide for the bringer of death’s dose.
With every measure this fool in charge claims greatness
A sleight of hand meant to convince and confuse
So when my body is hanged in the virtual square,
It’s your gullibility that’s tightened the noose.
And the saddest things are the memories of you with fierce ideals
Now turning a blind eye to injustices in a quest for the status quo
Those protest songs traded now for hymns of the prosperity gospel
Nothing like an evangelical sermon and a gaudy mummer’s show.