Even so, we did what we believed in: Treason, yes, perhaps, but with good cause. History will judge by its own laws, Each act within the sunlight of the season. Love was what inspired us, a reason As pure as any saint in Satan's jaws. Nor was the god we worshipped through those wars Demonized, as later all would see him. Justice would not just sustain our guilt, Undoing those who would undo a wrong, Leaving us in lucid infamy. Instead, it would remember what we willed Under the illusion of a song So beautiful it would the chained earth free.
1953. US. Death row. A bad poem, but elevated by its monumental context and constrained by a simple encipherment revealing the authors.
From Julian Assange personal website IQ.ORG (web.archive.org)