A Walking Tour

You see these little pills?
These ones are for the freaks
The ones that won’t shut up
And blabber on about their dreams.

Can I get a straight-jacket
For that kid in 109?
The bitch is acting out again
Screaming that he’s “feeling fine.”

Excuse me, I’m distracted,
There’s a fair bit to be done.
We need them all docile, you see,
Otherwise they tend to run.

Now in the ’50s it was harder
– They had to perform lobotomies –
But thanks to modern science
All we need is Sertraline.

Would you care for coffee, darling?
I think you need to calm down.
It’s all for your own good, you know
Keeping their heads on the ground.

Send ’em off with their prescriptions
And everything’s alright
We’ll have none of this “free thinking”
Lurking about the streets at night.

What’s that, “Human rights”, you say?
I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.
Their brains are all so sick, you see
We’re just lending a helping hand.

Take that delinquent – over there –
Scratching poems on her walls.
Vandalism, I dare say,
No respect at all.

That’s the thing about these youths
With their poor, deluded ideals
No jobs, no plans, no futures,
They think art can pay for meals!

They want a “revolution”
– That’s what they always say
But they’re just a bunch of weed fiends
That the hippies led astray.

Isn’t it a shame, my dear,
To see these young lives go to waste?
Why can’t they be content
Settling down with decent wage?

Here, we set them right
They’ll pay their taxes, live by the sea.
Two kids and a dog,
Insurance for all three.

What do you mean you have to go?
Don’t you like it here?
We can make it very cozy
Rid you of that pesky fear.

Hush now, dear child,
There’s no reason to cry
We’ll just hold you down and feed you these
And then you’ll, too, see the light.

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