So what do I think,

When wandering through

The hordes of armoured advice

That is offered in chains

Of expectation

That can close like a vice?

If they go to war

When you ignore

Their oh-so-nice

Advice,

It’s no advise at all,

But an order, a command,

A carefully concealed demand.

You can listen to it, sure,

But I’d sooner bed

the enemy.

Advise should be a gift,

Nothing taken, only this:

Remember what the Cat said,

“If they were right, I’d agree,

It’s them they know, not me”,

A fundamentally

Self-serving

philosophy.

Isn’t that the point?

Or do our friends think

We’re no longer free?

Keep your own council,

And leave my wars

To me.