Man’s best friend viciously attacks the stranger.
What you felt was love. Or was it danger?
Stand up for yourself until this ends.
The truth doesn’t matter. As long as you have friends.
The isolated tree is not really alone.
You, in bed. Your isolated groan.
One of many in your head, as you can’t sleep.
A comfort, I suppose, if your friends weep.
If they can’t do anything, are they friends?
Take this letter, give it to the boy
Who sings, and writes poetry, and guards the sheep.
Protection is the beginning of the ploy.
Is this defense? Or what it defends?