He was asking for it.

I am a big believer in euthanasia; if someone is in misery and truly wants to die I see no reason not to let them, in fact it seems churlish to spend more money keeping them alive than they feel their life is worth. So I’m more than willing to help them, aid them in their quest to shuffle off this mortal coil.  The unfortunate thing for me is that the Judge did not agree with me. And that is why I am beginning an 18-year sentence for murder.

I heard his words and thought that they were a cry for help, a plea borne from the very depths of despair. He’d begged to be euthanized so I genuinely thought that I was doing him a favour when I shot him. One bullet thwacked in to his skin just above the eyes, the life went out immediately and I had done my duty, extinguishing the pain that caused such lament.

I’d told the judge that he was asking for it, night after night he was telling the anyone who cared to listen to his wailing that he could no long bear being such a loser, such a dead beat. So I’d acted out of compassion, out of love. I’d freed him from the heroin addiction that had dragged him down and ruined his life. I’d released him from his misery.  But it turns out that words in a song are not considered by a court of law to be a genuine plea for help, no matter how many times they are repeated. That meant that my whole defence was blown out of the water. I could see that members of the jury agreed with me, I could tell it in their eyes, but the judge instructed them to find me guilty.

So Beck lays dead and is mourned by his fans while I have 18 years to think about the injustice of it all.