The proud oaf of apparent misanthrope,
the skeptic, the scoffer content in apathy
can express himself through his sneers only,
and remains consistently lonely in bigotry.
No modesty, but misery, no recovery, but ruin,
his descent to atrophy brings an end too soon,
yet he stands sure, with no future in a cocoon
lest to a poison of decay could he be immune.
The sloth found complacency in a land of dreams
from an opiate rising only to a lifeless regime,
yet plans born of remiss and mindlessness seem
to accomplish naught, they leave nothing undreamed.
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