Place your justice in my palm and then I'll make fist

Punch your grimaced face until every last knuckle breaks

And bleeds in resistance to my sidewalk painting

A mangled body twitching and regaining consciousness and closure

Attempting composure before a bullet in the mouth answers the questions of exposure

And God of Sunday School façades and paycheques to validate the time I served abroad

It all means nothing if I forget why I'm here

To serve and protect my fist over fist mind under matter career

That's why a man sounds kind of funny when he falls to his knees

With his hand on his throat while he begs you to please spare his life

While I explain the hardest of bodies dulls the softest of knives

Then I hold up his chin and carve X's in his eyes

I swear I have compassion I've just been trained to disregard the prisoner's life

'cause I am the prison guard