They were here again last night, Erasers.
I saw them through the window, with their flashlights and tasers.
I managed to play terse, but every call gets tighter
as they leverage all their fighters to track minds unwaivered.
We need vigilance. The truth is dangerous, to them but also us.
We are the runaway slaves, stowed and bestowed with trust.
Their vision is clear: reprogramming the human race
until every man smiles the same smile,
until every man removes his face.
They feed us cocktails, a cup of pills to consume with haste,
and hope the scrambled eggs and juice help excuse the brutal taste.
None for me. I ditch the drugs in a napkin with a pinch
as I draw up another map to freedom, captaining the ship.
We will escape, my comrades. This repressive regime
is not the end of the sea. There's more than empty disease.
They sit us in front of the screens, keep us staring into the nothingness.
As our brains melt, they're seeing just how deep the puddle gets.
Then they roll us to the checkerboard, afraid of games of chess,
but my strategy is check and force the King to lay to rest.
The King, he who channels all this madness,
while examining his captives as though we're chattel for masses,
or is it cattle for the juicy steaks we're never served?
The food is slop, pre-chewed mush with chemical preserves.
We veterans deserve something better than this turn,
so we'll strike together with a verve, the King deposed by his own serfs.
We'll cane the bastard, take out his knees with ruthless quickness.
But let's wait until after 4
because my grandson's due to visit.
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