- "Sin" is a fearsome word, shameful, effective and frightening.

  "Crime" is only good for bad poets, good lawyers and judges.

  And a child's protest is such a typical and unimportant thing

  It's as common as a sorrowful letter's tear and ink smudges.

  An infant's cry is natural and anticipated. No reason for alarm.

  And "course of life" we casually name the old man's demise.

  Addicts die on the streets; one mouth less, what's the harm?

  But for me and you, oh, raise our sorry whimpers to the skies!

 

And I wonder, who really is "us" and who is "them"?

Have we not been sinners, have we not committed crimes?

Have we not been frustrated infants and little children?

Have we not suffered the uncertainty of the thinning of time?

Were you and I born as important wise men and women?

Have we not broken the hearts of those whom we cherish?

And are we so very "significantly more signicant", then...

...that we may never grow old and perish?

 

 

-Yet, I cried and I begged and not a soul dared to cry: "Sin!"

Take down the powers that be, will be and have always been?

Unborn is who shall stand up and fight that ancient crime

Therefore I shall never spare or be spared a single dime

For it is I who is the harmed and I who is the neglected

I am the shunned,I am the ignored and I am the rejected

I am the addict and I am the pauper in the streets dying

I am the mother, I'm the sick, I'm the lunatic and I AM trying!

 

But my tongue is arrid, I can't be heard and my arms and legs are too short

And I have no home and I have no future and I have no passport

I am the battered and I am the bludgeoned and I am the bereft and tattered

And I shall live and I shall die and I will still have never mattered.