Your labyrinthine halls entomb rational judgment
Each twist taking us deeper into cycles of consumption
But prices too low to ignore!
We fall prostrate before thy registers
Opening the coffers to fill endless cubic meters
With superficial quality
And witty pseudo-Swede-speak
Until at last
The uitgang looms
And we run, hurtle
Towards the light
Of the parking garage, but nonetheless OUT
Now looking forward to the imminent return
There is indeed an I in Ikea
