Nestled in the comfort of my own home
I looked to the streets that lay beneath
Witnessed gaps in smiles and holes in teeth
I looked from four floors up feeling like the king of Rome
I looked down upon them as I ran through my perfect hair, a comb.
I have hidden away like a blade inside a sheath,
For foul creatures and poverty stricken lay underneath
And the same roads with them, I will not be forced to roam.

Praise the strength of the less fortunate they said,
Praise what? The pathetic poor peasants?
If I could, I'd have them strung limb to limb like pheasants
And remember my last request shall I be on my deathbed
Let no man who is poorer than I, be within my peripheral sight
For I know that they have not deserved the right.