Because I'm dead I have no rights but one

yet he that murdered me lives on

and, though in prison, still enjoys so much

of what life has to offer such

as comradeship and love of family

while my folk never will see me

again. They scan a void where howls of loss

reverberate but cannot cross.

Adaptable as people are, in time

his life will mould anew, his crime

not punished by the hell of galley slaves

now human rights cede much he craves

like decent food, gym, music books, TV -

none of which things can comfort me.

Absent, I am forgotten, my one right 

ignored while gradually his plight

gains sympathy for his release. Throughout

imprisonment he has no doubt

he will be free at last. My kin and I

have no such hope. He made me die

and yet enjoys some life which is not fair.

"Forgive" they say, which only means don't care.

I in eternity cannot forgive.

Common fairness says he shall not live.

Because I'm dead I have no rights but one

which is that execution must be done.