Lines and Borders
In Germany, the system hums,
With folders, stamps, and legal drums.
A button pressed, the light turns green —
You almost feel like a machine.
But cross the map to East or South,
Where orders echo, but not out loud.
In post-Soviet corners, rusted files
Crumble slowly under practiced smiles.
A slip is lost, a date is wrong,
And you have waited all day long.
The desk is empty, doors are shut —
They blame the West, then blame your luck.
Yet somehow through the quiet cracks,
A mother feeds, a student acts.
And though the rules were built on sand,
Somehow life still takes a stand.
But oh, the dream of smoother days —
Of Ordnung, lines, and lawful ways.
When chaos bites behind the screen,
You miss the cold, efficient machine.