So, this one has a bit of an unusual origin.
While I have been working my way through ORG short fiction at a pretty good rate, Kelly Hallman asked if she could write a short story of her own in that same 25th century dystopian solar system. Of course I said, “Sure, why not?”
Kelly came up with a great story, with the end interspacing with a song about a prisoner on his way to his execution. It worked really well with story, but it had the minor problem of being, well, still under copyright.
We needed a new song. And I certainly am not the type to shy away from writing another murder ballad.
Coming Home
I know the whole damned lie
They told on the prosecutor’s bench
But the joke’s on them
‘Cause if they ever knew the whole of it
They’d’ve shit their own pants
If I could send that judge to Hell
He’d be coming home
At last he’d be coming home
But Death, she loves a jest
So I sit here condemned
For the one I never touched
While sixteen others lie
Forgotten in their holes
Where I left them each and every one
They were coming home
At last they were coming home
But can’t wrestle the hangman
When your eyes lack even two pence
And even though they’re all set
To take it all from me
They can’t stop the fact that
Now at last I’m coming home,
I’m coming home,
At last I’m coming home.
Heretical Reflections 