Death Strikes Again

All that's left
Is the funeral
And the reading of the will.
Another prisoner is executed.
Long live the VCR
And his and her king-size bed.
The Constitution is the hearse.
Apple pie
In the sky.
Bury the body
In a wooden box
Under the Southern cross.
Turn up the volume
Eat your ice cream
And read about it in the paper
But will you share the grief?
Give me an epitaph,
Freedom is now at hand
Having never come before.

At the time this poem appeared, Franz had been a prisoner on Georgia's death row for 10 years. This poem was published under a pen name.