Martin Bryant
My name is Martin Bryant,
Mass murderer or so they claim.
Jailed for life in Tasmania,
And in Australia’s hall of shame.
They say I shot 39 or more,
With rifle on my hip.
And not one miss, a perfect score,
Professional marksmanship.
With an IQ of 60 or a little bit more,
I stutter now and then.
Doctors say for the plan I pulled off,
I’d need an IQ of 110.
The witnesses they all saw me there,
Each one a different view.
Identified by my wavy, straight hair?
But not by the one I knew.
Now I’m left-handed when I write,
It’s the way I hold a pen.
But they say I shot them with my right,
And I’ve only fired one now and then.
Politicians they all were empowered,
New gun laws at the ready.
A lucky co-incidence for John Howard,
And co-incidences there were many.
Now I’m in goal without a trial,
No evidence or proof of guilt.
There aren’t even au-topsies on file,
But with time any doubt will wilt.
My name is Martin Bryant,
Mass murderer or so they claim.
Jailed for life in Tasmania,
On Australia’s day of shame.
– Contributed by UIB
