Protest the Hero Follow

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