MINES.

It’s your mind that’s the enemy,
Not mine or his or hers;
It’s your own dystopia
That is keeping you from us.

You wail about coiled solitude,
But that was your decision,
It’s not us you see concealing you,
But your own condition.

The paranoia you speak of
Is easy to explain:
You keep looking out of windows
And someone is bound to look in.

Your respiratory complaints
Are the results of too much booze,
Falling over every day
Leaves you little breath to use.

This talk of killing everything
Is simply unsupportable,
Think about the outcome
Of something quite so awful.

All these issues seem to stem
From some obsessive urge;
Talk to a doctor, take a tablet,
Smoke something to get it purged.

We want to see you back in the fold,
Your company was enjoyed,
Your wit and wisdom entertained us,
The tactics you employed.

Your mind is the enemy,
Console it in the dark,
Keep your freedoms sweet;
Air them in a park.

Don’t listen out at night time
For daemons in the hall,
Confront the bastards daily,
And in no time at all…you’ll be just like every one of us.