Socialising, my old friend.

You sit there talking like
you always do, having fun
Spitting wine out your mouth
like a myth
of the weekend
Control swoops the room
Control swoops the chest
My chest.
Drinking through the silence in my head
Force the good times,
Socialising, my old friend, we used to be so close
And talk all the time.
Over the years we drifted,
How times have changed
it's strange to think of what could of been
if the control didn't control
and just let loose and enrolled
into the weekend, like the flock.
flying South for the winter and
Never coming back through the seasons
These seasons change, and in despite,
of that
The control controls
And doesn't let slip the true intentions
This is what keeps the people in the know
Monday rolls around.. finding your feet didn't seem
So easy
Clearly it's not
But we try
To fight the control
The control that controls the dogs in control of the control.