Drones of the Deranged
Sing to the tune of “Home on the Range”.
Oh give me a drone
that will shuffle my bones,
that will turn my apartment to clay;
where mayhem’s assured,
human life is a turd;
early death is the price you must pay.
Drones of the deranged,
where the fears that I can’t elude prey
on my fraying nerves.
Their trajectory curves
all the way to my family’s mass grave.
Oh give me a zone
to unleash all my drones,
where the dears I will liquidate pray;
where bedlam is sure
and my fingers secure
what my eyes are determined to slay.
Drones of the deranged
where the violence of war’s on display,
where life is absurd–
a remote-controlled bird–
and the spies blow their brothers away.