A life can be spent battling, to try to heal all sick men
And pen up such swine in a straw built ceiling

Turns out when pigs can destroy
When above you they try
to build the sties that they make

Instead of mud-straw
It's just saliva and stool
Cemented with the drool of dead stoolies.

I've fermented a brew, that taste like a stew
made out of beautiful life
But it smells saccharin sweet, not longer seems neat
No longer holds honor to actions.

So instead I'll build a faction in life that honors other factions of fate
Frats and Sorts that lack hate.
No longer berate something
just because it wants to be living.