Bm A
|
There's nothing as cold as the freeze in your soul
|
G A Bm
|
at the moment when you are arrested.
|
Bm A
|
There's nothing as real as the iron and steel
|
G A Bm
|
on the handcuffs when you protested.
|
D F#
|
You race through the night in the prison of fright
|
Bm A
|
as you head for the quicksand of questions.
|
Bm A
|
And children unborn will see you in scorn
|
G A Bm
|
if ever you make a confession.
|
|
And the click of a lock is a shiver of shock
|
as you wonder what are their objectives.
|
Upon your guard for the voices are hard
|
that belong to the cops and detectives.
|
And it's hard to believe as they roll up their sleeves
|
that you're in for more than a session.
|
And it couldn't be true and it's not really you
|
that they want to make a confession.
|
|
You cannot conceal the confussion you feel
|
as they steadily work to out-guess you.
|
And some will pretend they are really your friend
|
who rally around to your rescue.
|
With frightening force your mind is divorced
|
to give them the guilty impression.
|
Every word that you hear is a weapon of fear
|
to win the war of confessions.
|
|
The lights shoot a glare like bullets they stare
|
and burn out the base of conviction.
|
And you squint and you blink and you try not to think
|
of the cobwebs of contridictions.
|
And your clothes will be wet with the rivers of sweat
|
that tells the tale of attention.
|
And once in awhile the clock has to smile
|
as it counts the time of confession.
|
|
The questions will rain and pour on your brain
|
with the proper speed they are driven.
|
The circles they pace and the sneer on their face
|
tells you no quarter is given.
|
You can salvage your mind when the paper is signed
|
then the crime is solved by oppression.
|
But win, lose, or draw, it's the rule of the law
|
to always work for confession.
|
|
And the balance of scales seems distant and pale
|
in the shadowy days of the trial.
|
And sometimes they die; with their name on a lie
|
when it's all too late for denial.
|
When agreement is full the switch must be pulled
|
and the chair leaves no hope for correction.
|
But the chances are large he was guilty as charged
|
After all, he made a confession.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Confession
|
Phil Ochs |