The Slob is the form of our forlorn fate...
For he has been forged in the fires of favor
In the eyes of the fevered masses.
A wart is easier than a flower
To gaze at long, for there is no hope.
It is easier to give up, and not long...
To give into lascivious pleasure.
Does one need to be a millionaire?
Or can one be a simple Master
Smithing in iron and welds.
Making a Master's purse,
Modest, and nourishing?
Does great riches or great poverty
Follow from expertise?
Or can a middle class fortune arise?
For, it is either the slob,
Or the King, there is no middle...
No, that is what they have told us.
The Hero
Published
