A fabled Horse, atop so high
sat in your supple throne.
Gaze down with disdain
at your people, in vain.

With your throes of lies.
While you eat from gain,
ignore people’s grain.
You’re cut of the same.

Cloth of Cain.
You eat your decadence.
Sow your renown
and shame the same.

You fill your vial.
A tincture of filth.
Your spirit is vile
ye feigned smile.

Continue atop your mount.
Stride through
for the people know your truth.
Cur. Uncouth.