Member of Society

Disclaimer: I do not own Briar or George. They belong to Tamora Pierce. I do own the League of Persons with Questionable Intentions and- No, I can't tell you about it! Yes, I founded it, but it's a secret! I didn't even come up with the "Bag, Bleater, and Baron." That shows you how unimaginative I am.

When night grows old, and the lights un-dim,

We look around, and reap our sin.

But we never expected to become a respected,

Member of Society.

Our thieving days were numbered, (indeed, how could they not?)

Life and stealing would end together; at least, that's what we thought.

Instead we're elected, to become a respected,

Member of Society.

A Bag, a Bleater, a Baron,

Indeed, 'twas not what was meant to be.

Yet we are the protected, quite the respected,

Member of Society.

We expected to hang from the end of a rope,

When our luck ran out, and we had no hope.

But we've passed the inspection, and are now a respected,

Member of Society.

So we've been excused, for our past misdeeds and crime,

Passing over what we'd thought would be death before our time.

So naught we've objected at becoming a respected,

Member of Society.

We've lost our skills, and gained some trust,

That Streets would have ended with a knife thrust.

This we've reflected, upon becoming a respected,

Member of Society.

Stirrings to steal have yet to grow cold,

And amazed are we to handle such gold,

That we're now neglected, as a respected,

Member of Society.

Why was it destined for our lives to be changed?

Everything then had been rearranged.

Oh how we wish it had not been suggested,

That we become a respected,

Member of Society.