I understand that you’re better than me,
you teach me daily with all that I see.
You’re woken with blessings and ‘How did Ma’am sleep?’
I wake in the pen with the rest of the sheep.
I understand I am better than you,
I devour the skies for knowledge a-new.
You’re broken from sweet dream with worries of few,
I awake in the Hands of Fate, with destiny to imbue.
I understand I’m worth less than you,
I teach myself daily with all that I do.
I sweat and I toil and I give up my dreams,
Surely my life is worth more that it seems.
My dear! You are most surely mistaken,
you’ve earned more than enough for your toil and your aching,
How could you possible require more?
What on earth could a pleb like you seek to restore?
I raise my head slightly, are you talking to me?
I’d seek to rebalance the world that I see.
I see death and destruction and vice and greed.
I see desolate people with mouths to feed.
I see hands that grab and fingers that thieve,
what could you possibly expect to achieve?
Destruction brings opportunity, gluttonous greed bootstraps need in wake,
For those that are hungry? As she once rightly said: Let them eat cake!
They thieve to restore, their riches you stole,
to shore up your power. Glory your goal.
But what will be standing come the end of time?
Your name is bold letters, bleached by lime.
Our name lives on through all time and through ages,
With wealth and good health; despite your parsimonious outrages.
With offspring and connection, we vie with no rival;
for this Earth is ours and what’s ours brings survival.
You and your kin, do indeed leave a mark,
You will reign ’til the skies grow forever dark.
Sadly you’ll cause it to come too quick.
You and your kin have made the world sick.
Made the world sick? I scoff heartily; we made it the great!
If left to you and your ilk, there would exist a sorry old state.
We are born leaders; conquerors and Tsars,
our immortality decreed way up in the stars.
Your fate was decreed by flatterers and fakes,
You raised the rewards, they raised the stakes.
The more we all suffered, because of your game,
Our forefathers cry, for shame. For shame.
On this and all else my dear; we may agree to disagree.
For with my wealth the status quo shall remain – you’ll see.
Be a good peasant and run along now,
We’re having a party, so do keep it down.
I smile and I wink as I curtsy to leave,
I bid you good night, then I start to weave,
The curse that befalls you, when the bell strikes midnight.
Don’t fuck with witches, on Halloween Night.
The Winner in the 13th round: Rubber Superior on the left
The humbled Loser: Pitchforkin’ on the right
1 – 0