Do not call after me; I am gone. Just like the tumor of hope Which once rested on this man's Weak spirit: now crushed. Not harmed by sound nor sight But woken by this troubolous world, In which man's opinion serves only as Folly for this totalitarian hierarchy. The hierarchy of needs: the needs of pigs and Swine who rob us blind and order cuts only On those who cannot speak for themselves. These vultures target the weak. Not us who call for what is right; but those Whose sense of right is blurred and hazed By these high positions of power and praise. Such zeal for the wrong cause; such a shame. Be gone such parasites; be gone.