The stooges of the dark plunder the city and sow the leeks of shame at every vacant plot. The sun rises to sneer at the windshields and incinerate the unprepared. Shame hides behind its fierce disc, bobbing its head in derision at the hapless earthlings, before it retires gasping at the hilarity of those who dare to fight in earnest contention.
The low-hung clouds in the dusty skies feel ashamed. The blinking lights on peaks of tall buildings feel ashamed. The brothels with their boxy clientele and special worries feel ashamed. The trees, laden with erroneous chemical and flaccid branches feel ashamed. Shame drives the city further into the sea. Shame panics the seagulls into fright and bores the dolphins behind the glass. Shame, my chap, saps the law out of its might and smears the conscientious civil servants with the blood of the slaves. Shame has no moral boundaries; it kills at pleasure, and sneezes the stiffs out of the city culverts into the ponds of sewage. Shame will not cease its crusade, my dear, for this is how the city plays its tricks.
Shame is here to stay