If I could name your residents that dwell within your realm The variety can much confuse The inside culture overwhelms. I can see a familiar, amusing sight Of those who gripe of your imminent decay Yet though they long for olden times They still remain day to day Then there are those we all know well, Who live in their mansions of pretend, And those who yell in public view, Who have no contrast of lover and friend. Often when in indignant bickering, Some threaten to sieze the other's wealth. By an act that sounds much like planting, Accompanied with insults done in stealth. But there is good, o Cyberland, Some still possess integrity on your behalf, Those that defend fun and friendship, And speak wit to give all a good laugh. Though there is murk that festers on, That often brings me endless shame, I still defend from foolish cretins, Who justify stupidity for "It's just a game." So here I remain, dear Cyberland, Between sophistication and immaturity, Yet that's what one must obviously expect In a game called PIMD.