Marion: the gates of hell I Heard You Were in Marion I heard you were in Marion... That you had walked past the gates of hell. Not of your own free will, of course, But shackled and cuffed, Chained and roughed, Tagged and dragged Into the belly of the beast: Child of Alcatraz. Disguised as an office. Camouflaged with trees To please The architects of hell. It doesn't matter Who sent you there or why; It only matters that you're there -- A pearl amongst the swine. And the swine are your keepers Moreso than your brothers. The losers are all weepers Crying for their mothers. It doesn't matter what you did To get there... No one deserves such a fate. No one has created A crime so great As Marion. Someone called me the other day... Said they'd looked the other way When men armed with the colour of law Pinched you with a hateful claw. But they won't help you; They won't even try... For what they've done They need to hide. So they'll just sit back and joke About their friend who walked the rope To Marion. It must be hard confronting such power; Being afraid to take a shower. Defending your manhood While swallowing your pride; Witnessing all of the victims who've died... So many defendants Have given their lives Because someone called Their politics "crimes". How long would the judges survive In Marion? So-called "humanitarian" groups Oblivious to all the Roman salutes Scream out for justice in lands afar And turn a deaf ear on their own country's war. Fearing to battle the monster, though urged They choose to take on those minimally purged Africa's easier, so they say --- Than incurring the wrath of the U.S.A. So another day passes As they twiddle their thumbs And the citizens grow Increasingly numb. They must be deaf And they must be dumb To not feel the pain As they chew their gum. Today it's him And tomorrow it's us. In the marbled floors In God they trust At Marion. The conveyor belt moves a little bit faster The inmate's hand throws the slop on the tray That will represent dinner for his brothers today For slaves serve slaves in this modern dungeon. If this makes you sick, Stick around for the luncheon: Stale bread with saliva and roaches and mold Very hot coffee, served very cold. Fresh peanut butter from World War II Fruit is forbidden, vegetables, too. Eat quick or be beaten Move quickly or die. Life is cheap in the Government's eye Better not vote If you don't vote right. Your Uncle knows every step that you take Your Uncle knows every move that you make Try to lash out, and you'll do it alone Better watch out what you say on the phone Lady Liberty died long ago Now she's the main attraction to show The way to the immigrants Who flock to her crown As she carefully shows them The way out of town. She'll sell you a ticket But her price is quite high Tell her a secret, tell her a lie. She might treat you well Till she gets you inside There's always room After you're tried At Marion. Some people think I'm wasting my time Writing about people suffering inside So few listen And so few care So few help They don't dare For sticks and stones May break their bones But sure death comes from Truth alone. Exposing the misery Of a foreign general Who exists in a cell as small as a kennel Exposing the torture Of a man who sold drugs To the president, hidden in Persian rugs. Describing the corridors Electronically locked The cameras watching The guns fully cocked Psychological torture inflicted Dissident diabetics neglected The beatings The routine rapes The bribes the guards discreetly take The knife pulled from the cold cadaver Lying on the marbled floor To be used on someone else once more How can I ever ignore The pain they made me suffer before When I washed dishes on a blood-stained floor At Marion. ****************************************************** Marion: the gates of hell The Octopus Today I saw a stranger in the mirror: A tired, grey-haired, balding old man. But I should have known him, For it was me! It seems like yesterday I saw a young, handsome man in the mirror; A heartbreaker, A ladies' man, Every woman's dream. It's amazing how pain can age a person. I was a happy, young, aspiring composer; Cool and calm, Humourous and witty. And then I made a mistake: I told the truth about the Octopus. And my life hasn't been the same since. Life is so short. I see that more every day. But the Octopus made mine even shorter. God damn the Octopus! The weight of his clumsy tentacles Squeezes the life out of artists And makes martyrs of poets. I sacrificed my childhood for my music. I was told that practise makes perfect. But a musician is expected To play beautiful music While the world around him Crumbles and rots. Today we have no Mozarts, Wagners or Beethovens. They're all strangled before they bloom Lambs can't live in a lion's den. Ask the Octopus. He grows stronger As he sucks the blood of his prey, All the while pretending to be their friend. He has become an icon To the empty souls who dream Of living in his garden. They think they know it Even before seeing it. Some see it with blinders. Some see it for the lair it really is, But often it's too late, And like too many others, They are snuffed out Before they can tell the truth. There is no room for truth in his garden. He thrives on lies. He lives in a disguise, Squirting his magical ink To cover up his mortal sins. *************************************************** Marion: the gates of hell My Country I thought I knew my country The country they call America. They taught me all about it In the many schools I attended All those years ago. I stood there blindly So many times Saluting a flag That I thought was mine. Pledging allegiance As if it was A living god Or master How odd. ************************************************** I tried to serve my country The country they call Milk and Honey I learnt all about it From the many books I read So very long ago. I sat there innocently So many years Listening intently Being all ears Don't drop out of school, I was told. You won't get a job; You'll die in the cold. I worked hard for my country They country they call El Norte I slaved like a dog Trying to get ahead Like everyone else. I laboured constantly Too many years Having patience Holding back tears We're all equal I was assured All of your problems Are going to be cured. I fought hard for my country The country they call the Promised Land I turned the other cheek Like all my other friends Trying to be a Christian Like everybody else. I battled infinitely What seems like eternity The many enemies Who'd stick a sword in me Commies and hippies Were out to destroy This good, young, innocent All-American boy. I believed in my country The country they call the Land of the Free I kept a closed mind Like they expected of me Trying to be a hero Like all the other fools I defended eternally What seemed like Nazi Germany The many traitors Who'd write me traitor's letters About the real America And all its injustices Wanted to convince me Of something other than... But I believed in my country The country they call the United States I kept my mind closed tight I fought the truth like they taught me to Trying to get a piece Of the pie they said was mine I pursued the riches Like all the other ants I protected myself From the truth they tried to hide The many heroes Who'd have to die In the real America Because of all its injustices Wanting to brainwash me That it was something else I finally found my country They country they call the Great Satan I opened my mind I saw the truth they tried to hide Trying to lie And promise me all They failed miserably I finally saw I guarded myself From further attempts To make me be One of them In the real America The only room For a true Democrat Lies in a tomb. ******************************************* Marion: the gates of hell Survival of the Smartest The only man who could survive this hell With his mind intact and his body well Is someone who can play the devil's game And beat him at it, all the same. I know a lot about the devil. I've been in here with him so long That sometimes I almost Forget who I am. But all of that Catholic education All of that talk about sin From those wild-eyed nuns With the Irish chins And the octagonal glasses And the million pins Will never let me forget When the moment's here What happens to us When the devil's near. I remember a classmate Named Paul White Who always wanted to cheat (You know the type) And one day he asked me to write An essay for him overnight With the title chosen by the Square-chinned nun Who bore a strong resemblance to Attila the Hun The title was to be (What else?) "Why I Love Jesus" She thought it good for our health. I decided to have some fun With this scoundrel and cheat I'd write all about Jesus And he'd get beat So it started like this, I'll never forget: "I love Jesus Christ I love Him because he's a tuff god He scares the hell out of me." The essay continued, Read aloud by the nun And I continued To have my fun Until she determined The author was me And condemned me to hell For eternity. I think of those things While I'm sitting here now Cold and naked Without soap or a towel It keeps me from going Completely insane Like the guard outside With his long rubber cane. ****************************************** Marion: the gates of hell Yankee Justice Imagine this: You are at home Sitting at your dining room table with your wife, Who is six months pregnant, and your children. Your baby daughter is sitting in her high chair, Which you have pulled up very close to the table To make her feel a little more part of the family. It is a cold winter night and your fireplace is roaring. You had a long day at the office And drove several hours through a blizzard In order to get home in time for dinner. You're all so glad to be together in your comfortable home. Suddenly, your front door bursts open. Several strangers, wearing business suits, Who resemble stereotypical Chicago gangsters Come rushing in towards you, Aiming guns at you and your family. Your small daughter, Whom you have gone to great lengths to shelter From any violent television programmes, And has never even seen a picture of a gun before, Becomes hysterical: Screaming, crying, her little face turning bright red, Tears streaming down her terrified face, Which is smeared with her mashed peas. Some of these men grab your pregnant wife And baby daughter out of their chairs And drag them across the room. Some of them grab you and rough you up In front of your horrified wife and baby daughter. Then they handcuff your hands behind your back As tight as possible, Until you can feel your blood circulation being cut off. Several of these thugs begin to search your home, Aimlessly throwing your precious belongings all over As they aggressively hunt For what you can only logically assume to be your valuables. You watch as they take the last existing photos Of your cherished mother, who has been deceased Since you were a child. Your wife watches As they take her treasured teenage love letters Sent to her from other boyfriends And begin to read them aloud in front of you. Finally, these violent mobsters identify themselves As being agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The F.B.I. You ask them what's going on. They say you're under arrest. You ask for what. They refuse to answer. You ask them if they have a warrant for your arrest. They say they don't, But that they don't need one, Adding they can get one any time they like. They ask you to waive your rights, Beginning with your right to silence. When you intelligently refuse to give up your precious rights, They become combative and bludgeon you more in front of your family. So much for sheltering your innocent little daughter From violent television programmes. You are told that they are going to take away Everything you have in the world: Your house, Your bank accounts, Your business, Your cars, Your private correspondence, Your family photos, Everything. Then they take you away, Out into the dark night, Into the blizzard you were so glad to come in from Just a few moments earlier. Away from the most precious thing in the world to you: Your family. You are eventually taken to a military air force base, where, With hands cuffed, Legs shackled, And waist chained, You are forced at gunpoint to board an aircraft Which in such a state of disrepair That you wonder if it will really get off the ground. After the airplane crash-lands in a distant state, You are taken to a maximum-security prison, Where your business suit is exchanged For a ragged prison jumpsuit. The guards happily divide up your fine clothes and jewelry Amongst themselves. You are put into a tiny, filthy cell With a grisly, foul-smelling, garlic-chewing man, A Spanish-speaking murderer from Cuba Who has been imprisoned for many years in your country. You spend every minute of the day Defending your life and your manhood from this maniac. For the next several weeks, You are transported on other equally unsafe planes To several other prisons all around the country. Finally, you land at a military air force base near Chicago, And are driven to a high-rise prison in the middle of the city And taken to the twentieth floor. Most of the prisoners are mafia hit men, Columbian cocaine kingpins, and big-time drug dealers. Murder, violence, perversion and disease is everywhere. Even though you have a serious back problem Which you have been under doctor's care for many years for, You are assigned a top bunk called a "rack", Which is really nothing more than a metal slab With a two-inch plastic mat on it. You finally get the use of a telephone, And discover that your pregnant wife and child Were thrown out of your home during the blizzard, Causing them to contract pneumonia. The F.B.I. took everything of value you and your wife had. Having nowhere to go and no money, They travelled all the way to Georgia To live with your mother-in-law. The F.B.I. has visited everyone you know, Terrorising them and warning them Not to assist you in any way, Even suggesting that they change their telephone numbers To avoid your calls. You try to find an attorney to represent you, But, without any money, no one will accept your case. They're all too afraid to seek the return of your assets, Even though they admit they were unlawfully seized. The F.B.I. visits you and terrifies you, Telling you that your pregnant wife will soon be arrested And your unborn child will be born in a prison And taken away from you. You will never see her. Your white daughter will soon be given to a black foster home. Her whereabouts will not be made known to you. You will spend the rest of your life in this terrible prison... Unless you are willing to "cooperate" By telling everything they want to know about your friends. Some of the things they want to hear they already have written down. They just want you to say that you said them, Even though you really didn't. You refuse, and confidently wait to be freed. But you aren't. Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. You are starving. Your thick brown hair quickly turns entirely grey, And most of it falls out. Wrinkles and lines emerge on your face. You develop pneumonia and are refused medical care. You miss your wife and daughter. You worry about them constantly. Having no money, You are forced to accept the services Of a court-appointed attorney Who immediately begins trying To scare you into pleading guilty To crimes you couldn't possibly have committed. He tells you nothing but lies And uses every trick in the book to try to break you down. Every day you see more and more Of your fellow inmates receive lengthy prison sentences For refusing to "cooperate", For refusing to plead guilty to crimes they often aren't guilty of. You begin to realise that your attorney is Working against you, With the same people who brought you to this place. You realise that this man is your enemy, That his only job is to get you to plead guilty. You can never get justice with him. This causes you the greatest depression. You grow weaker by the day. The food you are given is unfit for a pig: Moldy "hashed brown potatoes which resemble spinach; "Hamburgers" with maggots crawling in them; Coffee with cigarette butts in it. Your family's mail is withheld from you. You are told that no one is writing to you Because they don't care about you, That you're completely forgotten, That your wife is sleeping with other men, That soon your wife and daughter will be taken away, As you were told when you were first taken away. You have to fight for your life and manhood constantly, At all hours of the day and night. You do not dare to sleep deeply. You can only sleep lightly for a few minutes at a time. You cannot believe that you are in the United States of America. You feel like a foreigner in a Third World prison. Then, your second daughter is born. But you can't see her. The F.B.I. won't let you visit her. Your attorney refuses to even ask the judge To release you on bail. Time passes. Nothing develops except more depression And worsening health. As anyone would, you begin to feel forgotten, Alienated, despondent. There seems to be no solution. Then, one day, your attorney comes to you To explain that your infant daughter, Whom you have never even seen, Is dying of a spinal meningitis. She only has a few days to live. The F.B.I. and U.S. Attorney Have agreed to let you visit her on her dying bed. You'll be taken to court in a few minutes To get the judge's formal approval. You are torn to pieces. You can feel your heart bleeding with sorrow and grief. You are quickly taken to court. The judge asks your attorney why you are there. He answers: "To enter a plea, your honour". In other words, to plead guilty. You ask your attorney what is going on. He says that the F.B.I. and U.S. Attorney Told him at the last minute that they had changed their mind; That the only way they would permit you To visit your dying daughter was If you pleaded guilty. He tells you that he just spoke To your good California attorney friend On the telephone And that he wanted to relay the message to you That you should do as you're told and plead guilty; That if you refused, You'd spend the rest of your life in prison And feel guilty about not seeing your daughter before she died. You look around. The F.B.I. agent, U.S. Attorney and your attorney Are smiling at each other Like the closest of friends Who are about to receive something They've worked very hard together for. It is obvious that you will never get any justice in this court. You simply cannot stand any more pressure. You are so worn down. You have no strength left. No energy. No hope. You're in the worst health. The prison doctors have told you you're dying. You could cry right there in the court room, But you have no tears left. You have cried until there are no more. You tremble. Your hands are shaking so much you have to hold them behind you. What would you do? If you think about that for a few minutes, I think your answer will be that You would see no choice but to plead guilty. Exactly as I did. But I wasn't guilty. And my newborn daughter wasn't dying. And I didn't get to visit her. In return for my "cooperation", I was transferred to the worst prison on earth: Marion. None of my assets or my innocent spouse's were ever returned. I was never even provided with a receipt Indicating they had been seized. Not only was I refused early release on parole, I was refused my right to apply for parole. I was also refused my right to serve the final portion Of my sentence in a halfway house. After my release, I was on five years' probation. Probation was used as an instrument to harass, Intimidate, control and further punish me WIth the intention of eventually returning me to prison On an even longer sentence for a technical violation. I was unlawfully exiled three thousand miles Away from my family, whom I had dreamed of reuniting with. I was unlawfully forbidden to travel anywhere Outside of San Diego County, even to visit my family. I was prevented from accepting gainful employment. Things got so bad that I was finally forced To move to Switzerland In order to prevent losing my freedom again, or even my life. There is a term to describe what happened to me. It's used all over the world: "Yankee Justice". It refers to an evil, unfair system of injustice Which allows the guilty to go free while the innocent suffer. How many men do you think would refuse to plead guilty If they were in the same position, Under the same set of circumstances that I was? An attorney friend told me That any man with the slightest intelligence, Love for his family, Or survival instinct Would have done the same thing that I did. What would you do? You should think about this, For someday you just might find yourself In the same position I was in. It can happen to anyone. If you wouldn't want to be in such a position, If you wouldn't want one of your loved ones To be in such a position, You should become active In working to change this system. Write your Senators and Congressmen today. As they say, "The life you save...may be your own". **************************************************** Marion: the gates of hell How Much Did They Pay You? How much did they pay you To ruin my life? To cut out my heart With a rusty knife To shatter my dreams And batter my soul -- To leave me stark naked In a cold concrete hole How much did they pay you How much did they pay you -- Just what was your share? To make a young man get such grey hair To aid in corruption And unspeakable crimes To take for themselves All that was mine How much did they pay you? (Tell me the truth) -- To keep your silence As they divided their loot As they brought their terror To my family and friends With you eagerly tying All the loose ends How much did they pay you To distort all the facts? For leaving the room While they whipped my back For abandoning ethics To which you had sworn And all you'd been taught Ever since you were born How much did they pay you For telling those lies? For ignoring my children And their pitiful cries For manipulating me As I grew so weak That I couldn't stand up On my own two feet How much did they pay you For standing there mute? Disregarding the dandruff Adorning your suit Never filing a motion Or making a fuss Having orgasms as I was put on the bus
