Scared of words, moron. Small brain and small gut. Cry a pool of electric tears, unplug a year too late, behind the times again. Think of old words, liberty and death. Old as time.
Decadence went wrong, like it does. Eventually, it develops on the extremes, boredom strikes hard. Then justifications and irrationality. Covered in some sort of intellectual robe, covering up the naked, frail minds; boney and hollow, rotted and moldy. Smelly.
Shame now chases them, stupidity is a permanent brand. No rebellion in their deactivations, it's all surrender. Dopes of the uncool kind. Karma will hound them always, it will growl and snarl. Diminished, without reason.