The twisted tale of Charles Manson
Bret Alexander, production and performance; Lex Zaleta, lyrics
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The good die young, and Charles Manson is still with us
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NO MAN’S SON
He was born with no name,
No parents to speak of.
No wife that he could blame
For his lifelong streak of
Bad, bad breaks.
The law gave him a home –
A number and a cell in
Which to sing his poems,
Dwell on a felon’s
Past mistakes.
We all say, “Sorry, Charlie,
You’re not the fortunate one,
You’ll live and die in prison,
You son of a no man’s son.”
They tell him when to rise
And when he can turn in.
They look into his eyes
And see witches burnin’
At the stake.
He said he gave the poor
What he ripped from the rich,
Until his mystery tour
Was ended by a snitch
On the take.
We all say, “Sorry, Charlie,
You’re not the fortunate one,
You’ll live and die in prison,
You son of a no man’s son.”
Now he’s up for parole
Every couple of years;
It seems his only goal
Is to rekindle fear
And heartache.
When you see him on TV,
Don’t begin to tremble.
Look closely and you’ll see
How his eyes resemble
Eden’s snake’s.
We all say, “Sorry, Charlie,
You’re not the fortunate one,
You’ll live and die in prison,
You son of a no man’s son.”
Copyright © 2002 Lex Zaleta
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