Third Cell - Mud Sun

Mud Sun was pretty dope for social criticism though

You know;

we both had skill with rhythm

And overcame most of the divisions

Between my liberalism

And your socialism

We disagreed over specifics but we had a clear vision

So, now where is it?

Lost to the slip of years and real living

You’re selling stories to the system

I’m sitting here in prison

Yeah, like Paris Hilton

Yeah, shame isn’t it?

We went from innovative spitters

To swilling beer and bickering

Yeah, it’s sickening

But let’s get back to the questioning

I know the past is festering

But tell me if it’s true or not

Or just, say you blew the bomb

Then if you plead not guilty

Then you really are completely rejecting the rule of law?

Baba

It’s been five years

Mud Sun’s dead and you’re successful

Why are your here?

Did you really want one last debate on politics

Is it for the scoop

Really?

Well, what is it?

It’s a job

Business?

Yeah

I seek the truth and then find an audience to speak it to

But I also took this on because of me and you

I respect what you created

You do?

Yeah

Your right to resist is basic

But if you’re evasive and you plead not guilty

Just to make a statement

Then face it

Your effort is wasted

Never wasted

Baba, you always thought too naively

First of all

I do object to the rule of this law completely

And second my defiance

However symbolic it might be

Might be the pressure that snaps the back of this society

And that possibility is enough to drive me

Even blindly?

Come on

If you try compromising just slightly

By defending your rights and protesting your innocence

But also admitting to the crimes that you did commit

Then you might get a little bit less than a life sentence

Like, twenty-seven years

Plus it sends the right message

No, I can’t plead guilty

I’ve committed no crime

And I’ll maintain that if it kills me

You have no idea what it’s like here

Outside your ivory tower

Where the noose is pulled tighter each hour

And kids are cut down if they try to speak louder

It’s not the Vancouver journo scene

It’s not university

There’s no space for debate or room for cowards

Sorry to be the vinegar on your silver spoon

But it’s time someone tore the roof off your sheltered views

The year is 2008