The People of the Shadow

Square minds square people
Grey minds grey people, hard and rigid
One has no time for them.
They are confined into squares
They have a mindless automatic existence
Pre-programmed, formatted minds.

Camouflaged in false love, false peace
They are walking corpses with warm blood
They are alive, but they are dead, but not undead.
They follow in masses, like a mindless flock
They vote their president like a mindless parrot.

There faces are unseen by the masks they wear
Be it militant, be it commercial, be it corporal.
They are easily missed, especially in the fog and mist.

For these are the people of the Shadow,
They stagnate; they are slaves to the coin
They are slaves to the corporations
Mistaken and mistreated like machines
Shadow people who are bitter and cold
Shadow people who find pleasure in poison