A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.

The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.

So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?

Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?

Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.

And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...

... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.