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Poverty’s chosen have no place

They hide their own faces beneath the waste and leave no trace.

Friends of the flies

Trembling pariahs and husks sentenced to be forever scorned and chastised

Madness…or so they say

No asylum can be found in this place.

The vows of the Crown can only betray;

Delirium and disgrace.

Beggars they fear, and beggars they breed

Through the misled years and forgotten tears they all will bleed

Such is the doctrine

Through the mad eyes of beggars, see abyssal serpents slithering within.

Oh, see them turn their heads

Couldn’t spare two coins for eyes of the dead

No stones to be thrown from a sack of gems

Lest they succumb to the madness and become like them.