Deep down on death row Damien Echols listens to the same nocturnal whispers, cold echoes on colder steel "you sure got a pretty mouth, boy..." Guilty of being un-Godly in a God-less world (try explaining that to a toothless zealot...) deemed to be at one with the devil condemned by myths and white history condemned by bigotry and a mob-rule community Three poor young boys were found hog-tied and mutilated in the mosquito-filled woods gotta find someone, anyone "someoneís gotta pay" "jobs are on the line" "what kinda animal...?" the witch hunt was on when someoneís sisterís brotherís cousin says that thereís the work of Satan ("may God have mercy," says a passing fisherman, "I done robbed some banks and shot some people up and some such crazy shit, but I ainít malicious and I says my prayers and believe in the Lord almighty saviour of all and I ainít no goddamn - Ďscuse me - devil worshipper") Ďcos it sure ainít the work of no Chris-tee-un folk. "Iíd wager itís that there Damien Echols that fucken freak that refused the pastorís bible," says the district parole office, genuflecting dramatically "the boy done wearing black all the time and listening to that there heavy metal music now tell me Bill what kinda normal..." "Ainít no normal man done this, Dick," spits the sergeant curtly, three decades on the force, pale doughnut skin sweating in the West Memphis sun, "nor man nor beast nor nuthiní but the devil hisself. Now what say we pay this evil fuck a little visit..." Like Salem re-visited they dragged the boy from his books and threw him to the wasp-ish pack a dozen in all, there was Teddy and Harry and Rick Rickett, Arlene, Bobby-Joe and Jim Swindler there was Eddie and Jessie and Ray and Buffy and Tracy and Peggy-Sue too, ainít never done nuthin wrong Ďcept a bit of cussin and drinkin and philandering and killiní critters an maybe a bit of fighting and thieving and sister fucken when times were hard, but none of them, however desperate, done gone and dyed their hair and banished God from their lives and killed them poor young defenceless boys hoo-wee no Sir-ee and amen to that but neither did Damien Echolls screaming inside as the judge quashed his world to an eight by three room and a nocturnal visit from a shank-toting trustee by the name of Bubba Damien Echolls guilty of being slightly intelligent guilty of being vaguely different twelve faces said so beyond a shadow of a doubt beyond the shadow of the valley of death that awaits him and there he sits today waiting for God to die so that he too can be free just like the real brimstone-spitting enemy. Damien Echols.