[Intro – spoken, calm & cold] They wear badges. They wear suits. They call it law. I call it a circus. [Verse 1] Look at them marching like they own the ground, Costumes of power, playing kings of a town. They call humans “illegal” with a straight face, Like breathing needs permission from a bureaucratic place. They draw lines on a map, think they own the Earth, Born into buildings, confuse force with worth. They don’t judge actions, they judge who you are, That’s not law — that’s a moral scar. In law, no human being is illegal, Only actions can be unlawful — that’s foundational, not radical. But clowns need villains to justify their show, So they turn existence into a crime for the crowd below. [Hook] They call it law — I call it clowns, Parading power in rented crowns. They don’t protect justice, they protect control, A costume state in a moral hole. They call it order — I call it a play, Where force wears logic and calls it “okay.” Not kings, not gods, not wise men at all — Just frightened rulers in a legal hall. [Verse 2] A crime exists only where there is a victim, No victim, no crime — that’s the system. Crossing a border without their consent Doesn’t transform a human into an offense. What’s dangerous is not migration or motion, It’s thinking institutions own the ocean. That a group of men in a marble room Can decide who belongs on this planet’s womb. They say “prove you belong, prove you’re allowed,” But free societies work the other way around. Power must justify every command, Or law collapses into rule by hand. [Hook] They call it law — I call it clowns, Parading power in rented crowns. They don’t protect justice, they protect control, A costume state in a moral hole. [Verse 3] They say it’s for safety, they say it’s for peace, Every empire says that when freedoms decrease. First they change language, then they change law, Then people become problems they can move with a claw. Yesterday “illegal Jew,” today “illegal man,” Same logic recycled, new century scam. History doesn’t repeat, but it sure does rhyme, When bureaucrats replace conscience with procedure and time. They don’t need chains when they own the frame, They don’t need violence when they rewrite the name. Once a human is labeled, the conscience sleeps, Because power looks clean when language bleeds. [Final Hook – slow & dominant] They call it law — I call it clowns, Costumed authority, plastic crowns. Not justice, not wisdom, not moral ground, Just organized force with a legal sound. They’re not kings. They’re not wise. They’re not guardians. They’re clowns in disguise.
