Missing persons

Line 2 to Örs vezér tér
Always so spare
So warehouse care of passengers
Like messengers to the King of Rubbish Dumps
Like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a mountain
Like trusting a Monk
To be responsible for fiscal policies of a nation

And Pensioners rub their noses
In their mobile phones
Play games like children
While children have already learnt
How to take control of their lives
And make demands on their parents
Like little mercenaries holding captive
Love
Spilling everyone's identities over the internet
Like a cold soup of ideas
Somebody made years ago
Then froze in the freezer
Until they had run out of food
And now its all we have to eat
But what's the use?

Because when the case is closed
And the trails run cold
All the detectives reveal
Their true clothes
And in the case of missing persons
There is nothing left to lose
We are already missing
From the story
Of the Golden goose
Of Narcissus I can only say this
We object to his vanity
But at least he was obsessed
With his own humanity
Some form of being human
Even if the sin of pride
Yet artificial identity
Is no place to hide
When we lose our flesh and blood
To digital noughts and crosses
And there is nothing left to wipe out
Of us but our ideas of our losses
Then we will become
The man in the mirror
Or the image in the pool
The fat man getting thinner
The ghost and shadow
Dancing on the wall