John Welles, said he
I do rightfully decree,
that your old man, aged eighty-three,
was abused by thee.

On the lawn out front,
he had an accident,
and you dragged him inside
so nobody would see.

Ashamed he was,
knowing you were cross,
when you washed and beat him clean.

Frail he is,
small as this.
While you were tall and lean.

John Welles, said he,
I do rightfully decree,
that under your care,
he’ll no longer be.

And in time you’ll find,
when you’re old and blind,
that there is no place
for your kind.

Alcohol-soft,
you’ll say you’re free.
But they’ll hide the whisky,
and bring the tea.

John Welles, said he
I do rightfully decree,
the life you took,
be taken from thee.