The verdict.

Everyone wants to feel, in some way, like their thoughts matter
They want to be pitched ideas as a worthy batter
What I didn't want, what I never wanted, was this
To decide whether to cast a man's soul to the abyss

I was selected for jury, and drawn to do duty
The desire to do my responsibility flew through me
I was chosen as an equal, and now within my hands
I hold the soul of a most guilty man

I've no doubt that he did it. His victims' blood runs clear
The most open and shut case they've seen this year
The rest looked at me, shocked as I hesitate
In delivering the verdict to the official of state

You see the death penalty is still a reality to me
Part of the law of the land of the home of the free
Yes this man is bad. Yes he took a man's life
And I tell myself it's different, because I don't hold the knife.

That he looked in their eyes and knew what he did
That his victim had a wife. The victim had a kid
I try to make this repulsion to the man on the stand
Give the verdict that's needed as I clench my hand

I would like to claim, as in so many cases
That the circumstances form an uncertain basis
On which to lay enough grounds to burst out and shout
"Your honour, I claim to have reasonable doubt"

I don't have such a backbone on which to rest
Instead I face a very different test
To court holds its breath, in this theatre of the absurd
Simply to cause the death of a man, by saying a word

I've waited long enough. Caused enough anguish to all.
The state is waiting for me to make my call.
As head juror. As citizen. As someone far from perfect.
I clear my throat, and I give my verdict.