Very Few People In Prison Have Voices

I Was Punished For Communicating.

Here And There In The Barrios And The Favelas, Among Those Who Have Least, Beat Hearts Of Hope, Fly Sparks Of Overcoming.

Free People Have A Right To Decide For Themselves What They Want To Hear.

When A Cause Comes Along And You Know In Your Bones That It Is Just, Yet Refuse To Defend It--at That Moment You Begin To Die. And I Have Never Seen So Many Corpses Walking Around Talking About Justice.

Prison Is A Second-by-second Assault On The Soul, A Day-to-day Degradation Of The Self, An Oppressive Steel And Brick Umbrella That Transforms Seconds Into Hours And Hours Into Days.