Hard to believe a year has gone by already since a rich entrepreneur used his car to kill the nicest guy anyone (including this writer) ever knew in a certain town, and the entire justice system refused to deliver. All I have to say is that if I’d killed someone by accidentally swinging a chainsaw around even though I know how to operate it right, I’d be doing some serious time. I hope this ballad provides its own justice and drives all named below to self-destruction.
“A saint killing an angel”
Josh Alper was killed by an entrepreneur,
–Around here, a type holier than Haribhadra.
Trevor Smith forgot his job and didn’t arrest him,
The CEO drove off and finished his weekend.
The entrepreneur said he must have been sleeping,
And why not? The world’s been well handed to drivers,
While kids dreamed late of courting angel investors,
He killed a man who’d traveled on his own power.
What truth is so frightening that no one dare speak it,
Even to charge a killer who can afford to fight it?
This entrepreneur the market stimulated
Enough, Josh’s life to have devaluated.
His worshippers free Trevor Smith to free killers,
To feel bad for cruisers who rip apart families,
And take the best guy from the oughts and the nineties
From Scruz, where humanity shrivels more daily.
But guiltiest of all is Judge Stephen S Siegel,
Whose addiction to quiet clutched to silence his gavel,
And called this crude murder a tragic misstumble,
When one sainted by money kills the people’s angel.
Maybe he thought Santa Cruz needs words from the Bible
Rather than quote Josh’s thousand friends and buddies,
To hide the fact that he was gutless though able
To force Jain to feel the destruction he funded.
What has Jain felt for two hundred days locked up?
Never to suffer what he did to Josh’s people,
And when he gets home his stocks double or triple
Cause he can pay brokers to maintain the level.
Siegel, you abandoned your office and bar.
You let the police free the entrepreneur,
You let him look sorry, see himself out the door,
And never age without a son to rub sores.
Enjoying the cheerful silence of your town?
Where the young and the old suffer for your home value?
Where one never speaks ill of being successful,
And gives misdemeanors to the barely remorseful?
You’ll donate words meaningless and sentimental
Where privatized honor guts justice’s budget,
And no one respects the law so you just fudge it,
And sentence guys to death for riding bicycle.