The Hermit

I like my peace and quiet.
I want to be alone.
No answering the doorbell.
No talking on the phone.

I’ve had enough of this world.
I can’t take any more.
Instead I’ll pull the shades down,
lock windows and the door.

You might call me a hermit,
off living on my own.
Your birthday card won’t reach me,
returned “Address Unknown”.

I do not have a TV,
nor Internet to scan.
Don’t want to talk or listen.
I don’t trust any man.

So maybe I’m a coward
to hide beneath my bed.
But when I look around me,
we might as well be dead.

Just look at where we are now,
this planet where we dwell.
We’re standing at the entrance
that leads straight in to hell.

I don’t see any path out,
no way to save the day.
What slightest chance we once had
is too late anyway.

We’re victims of our own acts,
our greed and lies and hate.
The blame must lie within us;
we’ve fashioned our own fate.

There isn’t any white knight,
no hero on a steed,
someone to save us all now
when that is what we need.

Is this the end of mankind?
Is this the fatal blow?
Since I live like a hermit,
well, I may never know.