San Quentin

Thieves come against locks

on windows, locks on doors.

Your heart can't be stolen

when you give it away.

If your hand be extended,

an inmate befriended,

the crime of isolation

caves in.

At the bars or behind 'em,

lonely is where you find 'em,

the trouble on their faces

is a sin.

We pretend we can't be busted,

convince ourselves we're trusted, but

it's only by His Grace

they let us in.

His Light is not to blind them,

your smile never random,

start by trading places

from within.