Always and only just sitting there lonely,
Barbaric almost in your singularity of thought,
Razor-like. Cutting through the film of all other things,
Alert and unencumbered by the needs of the many, you sir are selfish.
Have not the things men crave and be satisfied,
Alternate between confusion and greed, like a child born in hunger and delivered abruptly to wealth.
Man you are, or not, or yet to be, never more sure than the promise of another day lived.