The vigilantes of normality

The self-appointed guardians of right

Control the streets and offices, you, me

And knife us in the back as we take flight

But worst of all is when we choose to fight

Then we are hunted down like some poor fox

Hounds salivating; orchestrating bites

Sound of conductor’s baton as it knocks

For silence before the whole building rocks

Sound of the judge’s gavel; the guilty

Hears sentence passed in whispers, out of sight

And must depart; the train waits on its tracks

For some gulag perhaps, or Coventry

The trial over, there’s no chance to see

The charge or build defence. So Kafka writes