While the young die, the old congratulate themselves and claim courage. For geopolitical reasons or some other crucial and brave action. The money men and women make hawkish or doveish remarks and are hailed as fighters, so brave to rip everyone off as they're ripping them off. Takes gall, grease, and guns, these are dirty people.
Created a dung dynasty right before our eyes. Full of debauchery and shameless souls. Built on the backs of pigment pimps, like the pigment pimps of the past. No surprise, the High Tech Lyncher leads them. His brain decayed long ago of rot thoughts, his hands crave the grope, his nose knows a good rejuvenating conditioner when it sniffs one.
All this is known, the real suckers are the suckers; the following, wallowing mass of whiners, blinders, and five-and-dimers. The poor ole me's, the weak in the knees, the tics and fleas, the pricks and sleaze. Glowing heads in baby beds, agents, officials, and nine types of Feds. At the end of rainbows, there's nothing, it's merely an atmosoheric phenomenon of light, water, and reflection. Colorless, a fake out, the tint is only in your mind.