A stranger from afar parked his peculiar car,
Stepped onto the ground and stated:

The beings of this satellite are mighty cruel,
Or perhaps they're rather dull?

They shrink their own kind
And put them in a box,

While others just sit and watch them rot,
Of shame and fame and a ruined name,

Are they hypnotized by people's demise?
What's so entertaining about that?

These things in the box must be quite vital,
To everyone else's daily survival.

Why else would everyone tremble at their sight?
With terror or reverence or fury or what?

Why else would they stare at them every night?
For adoration or desperation or emancipation or what?

The stranger shook his head and sped far, far away,
Never, ever to return again.