Compel me to swear to silence
And watch my lips defy your orders
Shall I feign nonchalance
Cause my voice may never be heard?
The powers call them Keepers
Vested with the armour to guard
Not just the inner streets
But the highways and far planes
With much grace and charm
They wield their rifles and arms
To scare the loathsome driver
If extreme, they shoot a bird in the sky
Without shame and conscience
They extend their left hand
To seal the deal with the driver
Who knows how sacred the hand is
They call them Keepers
Keepers! Of what? People? Or paper?
While I shall never shoot myself
I shall honour with disgust
These highway priests!