It is when the wind takes the scent of intolerance
Sends it high into the sky to shrivel its malice
So reason and trust is again the blood of existence
No more ill rhetoric from mean and low creatures
On the fringe of all that is good in filial humanity
A concomitant hive mind of huddling sycophants
That bends wit and skill in a deadly game of thrones
That they call ethics but the learned call corruption
Ever doth malice rent out its gloating revenge upon us
In long games of dominance we now play out misfortune