Messengers are the first to be shot

Messengers are the first to be shot

Whistleblowers and truth tellers

Find themselves facing a firing squad

Nobody likes being told

Even when they benefit from the telling

What can a poor boy do

When the cost of silence

Is better for him

Maybe worse for everyone else

How do you sleep

When the voices in your head

Never let go

Guilt is a slow killer

Conscience grows louder

A voice on the shoulder

Easy answers are never that simple

Occam’s razor is a blunt tool

For a sharp mind

The road to redemption

Is not always easy

Too many people take short cuts

To achieve their goal

Whilst the conscientious

Allow work to consume

Their passion

Leaving too little too late

For building relationships

Is that why good detectives

Are always loners

Mavericks, poor team players

The quiet ones who were

Invisible at school

The friendless

Are often just lost souls

Hoping to be found

Before they become famous

For being infamous

Psychopathology is more common

Than people think

Nobody wants to believe

The successful businessman

Or politician

Is sublimating a bloodlust

Until the whistleblower

Hits the right note

And the people we look up to

Are laid bare

In all their venal glory

What a gory mess you got me into

Stanley

Is it the being caught we object to?

Blame it on the boogie

Anything is better than being

The fall guy

In someone else’s story.