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.