The best, yet bested still.
Rested on a bed of summer leaves.
Cold cutlery cuts the brave exterior.
The open heart bloodies sleeves.
They dine-out on the inferior,
We must pander to incessant needs.
Of course, the main course.
Fine discourse but I've heard it all before.
Mop your sullied amused bouche and bully the sullen staff.
Pigs might not fly, but you will call an uber.
Uber alles, to the valleys. Wish we all could share the laugh.
Admired and rewarded for being so contorted.
Distorted half humans climbing and grasping to get to the top.
They're already there. The air they share with very few is probably imported.
They flaunt and squander more than what us lowly folk could hope to receive in a life time.
We idolise idiocy,
Tired masses lay crowns on empty heads.
Live long the new monarchy,
The old kings are dead.
