[LUCILLE]
You don't know this man
You don't know a thing
You come here with these horrifying stories
These contemptible conceits
And you say you understand
How a man's heart beats
And you don't know a thing

You don't know this man
You don't even try
When a man writes his mother every Sunday
Pays his bills before they're due
Works so hard to feed his family—
There's your murderer for you—
And you stand here spitting words
That you know aren't true...

Then you don't know this man
I don't think you could
You don't have the right to know
A man that wise and good—
He is a decent man!
He is an honest man!
And you don't know
And you never will
Not from me, not from anyone who knows him—
Not a morsel, not a crumb, not a clue
I have nothing more to say to you