In that mass of human plight
The mighty you is standing so huge so firm.

Didn't you never desire to live so perpetually.
Did not you never desire to have the fate
     in those fists ever so tightly closed.
Yes you did and you survived.

Now what if you finish one more
of your weaker kinds.

It will not matter; it never did
If that dying one has a desire or two.
You see him, so vulnerable he is.
So are his wants one of which is to live.

But alas!
He is as weak as his dreams.
You as ever hate his existence.

So there it goes, the stamp of your merciless feet.
He remains nothing more but another
       chunk of blisters of torn flesh.

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