Accused of a murder. Sentenced by law.
My defence is quite feeble: “I didn’t mean to”
I really wasn’t surprised to see their frowns.
What do they know of the need to feel alive?

Twenty years to life, that was what I got.
I’ll get paroled in ten if I keep my stories straight.
I’ll exit the jail a lot wiser than when I came.
A network of criminal brains for my aid.

When people ask what’s on my mind;
I quietly shrug and shake my head.
Can I ever explain that it’s the easiest way?
Between poverty and prison pen

I choose the warmest.