Karma Police

Karma police, arrest this man
He talks in maths
He buzzes like a fridge
He's like a detuned radio

This morning, he woke up to the sound of sirens.
His papers litter the floor next to his bed; he was working late last night.
A glass of red wine lies on the floor, mere drops left in it.
With the eruption of sirens, he shakily rubs his eyes, grasping about the air.
"What's going on?" he sleepily mumbles, "What's wrong?"
As he gets out of his disgruntled sheets, his foot crushes the fallen glass. Taken aback by pain, he falls down onto the crumpled papers. He eagerly grabs his foot, trying to soothe its ache. In doing so, he picks out shards of crystal from his sole.
His hands scramble about to attempt to get up. Like reading braille, the floor tells a story to his fingers. Permutations, Calculus, dribbles of wine, sleeping pills, cigarettes, candles, matches: destroyed thoughts and shattered ideas. Finally, his palm pushes firmly on a clear spot in the ground.
A knock comes at the door.
"Hold on, I'll be right there."
The knock is impatient. It comes again. Urgent. Banging on the wooden door. Corrupting the foundation.
"I'm coming, okay?"
He stumbles towards the door to open it up. Too late.
The door bursts open, gusting dust around his eyes. As he coughs violently, a battering ram lowers. Veiled by the fine mist, a man in black approaches him. The man promptly cuffs him, wrapping his wrists in metallic bonds.
"What's the meaning of this? What's the charge?" he shouts at the figure.
But the man goes off to the side doorway.

Karma police, arrest this girl
Her Hitler hairdo is
Making me feel ill
And we have crashed her party

She had been laying on the couch, half-awake, muffled by the static of the television.
Yet, she heard what was going on in the other room.
Groggily, she opens her eyes to the dark figure.
There he stands, menacingly at the doorway. Leaning on it, with an air of superiority.
"Who are you?" she stammers from underneath her long, flowing hair, "What do you want with me?"
The man motions his head to the other room.
Restrained by two armored men, her friend approaches. She is suddenly awake. She rushes to his side, pushing at the men.
"What are you doing to him?"
She urges the hands off of his shoulders, but it is no use.
As she turns to face the dark figure, her hair snaps about her head, "What do you want with him?"
The man jumps onto her, pushing her to the ground. He turns her onto her stomach, in a single motion, and circumscribes her with her own set of bracelets.
He pushes her up to her feet, roughly handing her to one of the two men.
"What did we do?" she questions hysterically, "What could we have done to deserve this?"
The figure simply smiles as the armored men drag them both out into the driveway.

This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get when you mess with us

"John, Elizabeth- You are both wanted for oppressing the peace," he finally musters with a coarse voice as they step onto the snow-covered asphalt.
"How do you know our names?" John ponders aloud.
"John, we've been watching you for some time. Surely you've noticed us," the man sneers.
"Well, it did cross my mind, but I didn't believe it!"
"Perhaps next time you'll know better," he says with little emotion.
"But what did we actually do?" Elizabeth is halfway to tears, utterly confused by the situation.
The man halts the men with his hand.
"You didn't do anything," the figure says sternly, "It's what you didn't do. That's what's wrong. And that's why we're taking you."
He turns back to the black car parked on their lawn. It ran over the freshly budding daffodils. Their yellow petals lay blackened in the snow. Streaks of mud and oil track the snow, leaving a distinct footprint for all to see.
"In time, you'll thank us."
He smiles as they're both thrown into the back of the car and strangled to the bare, icy seats.

Karma Police
I've given all I can
It's not enough
I've given all I can
But we're still on the payroll

The judge knocks the metal mallet down onto the stainless steel proctor.
"Order." One word silences the small courtroom.
"I have reviewed the evidence of this case and have come to a conclusion-"
"Don't we get a trial by a jury of our peers?" Elizabeth interrupts.
"Be silent," he continues, "You are both accused of publicly dissenting from general opinions, disagreeing with absolute truths, and expressing individuality. How do you plead?"
"Your honor, what do you mean?" John utters, bewildered, "All we did was theorize. I was thinking of alternate universes, while Elizabeth was writing some of her poetry."
"I am appalled," the judge delegates, "You both openly admitted to flaws in the world political system-"
"Yes, but, we believe we have the ri-"
"You don't have that right! You must earn it. It is not meant for you! To continue, you, Elizabeth, were becoming rather flowery with your poetry-"
"I think I can write what I wish, your honor," Elizabeth interrupts again.
"You are wrong! Both of you! In conclusion, you both construed your freedom as being absolute. We, as a society, must have rules and regulations, so that we don't self-destruct on ourselves."
"Yes, but at the cost of our own individuality?" John wonders.
"It is not your choice. You were born here, it is decreed at birth that you must live here, work here, prosper here, die here. That, sir, is your right."
"Who decided that?" John asks impassioned, "Who deliberately took our basic freedoms away so that our society may strive as a whole? Who did this to us?"
"It does not matter who did it to you. It is done. And there's not a damned thing you can do about that."
John stands speechless.
The judge begins again.

This is what you get
This is what you get
This is what you get when you mess with us

"Therefore, under those severe charges, the court has come to the decision that these two be sent to death. Effective immediately. My apologies to the two of you, I simply have to do my job."
The armored men walk them both out of the room through silvery doors.
As they leave, Elizabeth gives the judge a cold stare, colder than his mallet, colder than the doors, colder than the steel chair he is sitting on.
Later that afternoon, they both stand by the dying sun, waiting in line for their room.
Waiting for the prick of the needle and the quick fade into darkness.
Waiting for the door to open.
At long last, it does.
"Numbers AD-101112 and AD-101113! You're next."
The dark figure of a man stands nearby, pushing them in.

And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
"John, I'm not sure what we did. All I did was write down what I was thinking of- what I thought and saw and heard and tasted and felt..."
And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
"I know, Elizabeth. All I did was think of what goes on outside our walls. Think of what we can't see or hear or taste or feel..."
for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
"I guess we are one the same, aren't we John?" Elizabeth smiles as a tear rolls down her cheek.
for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself
"I guess so," John utters, touching his bound hand to hers.
They sit down in chairs that stand next to each other.
The chairs are cool metal, shivering up their backs as they sit down.
Their bonds are removed until they are strapped to the chairs.
Both have their eyes closed.
The needles pop out from above, whirling about, ready to make its fatal jab.
John and Elizabeth sit comfortably, breathing calmly.
The needles strike them both in the necks.
They stop breathing and go limp.
Yet, as they lay motionless, they both seem to have a slight smile drawn upon their pale faces.
Phew, for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself