Institutionalized Innocence

Oh, say, my little jailbird,

Who sings ‘tweedle’ all day,

Did you mean to kill her husband

And leave him where he lay?

Now, did that make her love you so

To see his blood on you?

And still, you chirp you did not know,

‘It was not me!’ you coo.

Please sing to me a song behind

The bars with which you sit,

And cry you are much too confined 

For crimes that were unfit. 

‘For I can’t hold a knife,’ you say,

‘Between my feathered wings.’

Found guilty of crimes Mr. Jay?

Or broken wedding rings?