| Jeremy sits in the sun and he stares at the stripes |
| On the floor from the bars on the door, |
| Thinking of rabbits he kept as a child |
| In a chicken wire cage; he remembers the rage |
| Of his father the night he made his one call; |
| The relative stranger who left him to fall |
| To the mercy of judges with no shield at all. |
| Now he sits and he stares at the punishing wall. |
| Jeremy picks up the crayon he saved and he |
| Writes in the dark and he thinks of the park |
| And the flowers he gave to the girl with the bells. |
| He remembers he smile; it was gone at the trial. |
| Hear the footsteps of night guards patrolling the halls. |
| There are coughers and talkers who don’t sleep at all. |
| 'Midst the cursewords and worse words |
| That someone had scrawled |
| He writes her a poem on the punishing wall. |
| Mary, sweet Mary, it’s dark and it’s cold; |
| It’s all of the stories you’ve ever been told. |
| Keep the jar on the window, keep the lock on the door. |
| keep your mind on the man; keep away from the store. |
| Oh, Jeremy gentle, oh, Jeremy kind |
| As you walk with the thieves and the killers believe |
| That our numbers are growin'; the change has to come. |
| Put resentment aside; don’t turn bitter and die |