There’s something about this town,
Confusing and hard to pin down,
Its people seem strange,
As if wickedness got lost, the devil’s influence out of range.
There’s no such thing as money, no greed,
No urging feeling to win, more than him or her succeed;
It seems ideal,
But this heaven is but a mere false appeal.
Before you can blink twice,
You see that such a place is no shelter, but a rusting cage filled with plagued demonic mice;
The inhabitants are indeed imprisoned,
Their judgement a mindless routine, an infinite motion made by men seemingly automated.
They do not question, nor do they doubt,
They gave the right to choose away without second thought,
Fear and worries are inexistent,
As their humanity is also absent.
The community is not a well-oiled and productive machine but an overused and dated device,
The residents are not angels, but cursed spirits in a ghostly paradise.
by Vlad-Ovidiu Adam
