Oh! many a times have much must I
Obliterate this realm of semantic bullshit
These words of mine hold so much import
In a language that you will never seize.

My torment is given just another infantile name
The heart-wrenching disgust is not for you morons
I’d rather be a pompous, conceited maniac
Than be a streetwalking fatalist spiritual nincompoop.

The enemies of my spirit, are the enemies of humanity
Just because I endorse the emancipation of the free spirit?
The hypocritical advocates of, ironically, humanity are themselves
The feeders of the cadavers of your spirit and mine reckless.