When taxpayers come marching o'er the death of Justice,
With pennies and dollars staining their hard-earned suits,
And corrupt politicians enforcing their malice,
And the disenfranchised at their mercy, mute.
I always see the courtroom where Dad was cursed,
The first of trials that left a bitter taste,
And watched as they raped justice with their net,
And left the innocent to suffer their disgrace.
I always see the gavel's final doom,
And in the corner, guilty ones rejoice,
Their pockets lined, escaping their rightful tomb,
While victims suffer under unjust laws.
Where in the silent darkness we all cry,
And hear the echo of inequality,
And their fat privileged bodies justify,
The oppression of those fighting to be free.
When magistrates come marching o'er the death of Justice,
With their greed and power staining their deceit,
Our souls demand accountability and fairness,
A justice so elusive yet so complete.