Easy it must be,
Always looking down,
And seeing the sea,
Of many a clown.
Your trifle tower,
Sanctimonious!
Sour, the power;
That bests all of us.
Martyrdom, your glove.
Righteousness, your tongue.
From above, you shove-
Into chaos, flung.
Envious, our plight,
Of your moral stance?
You think right, this fight-
Brainwashed in a trance.
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