He is epitome of sadness, pityful his eyes
Haggard; injustice to the word. From work he shies
He plays with iniquity; he is one among the clique
Every well wish of his with tongue in his cheek
He remains silent, playing with his hideous side
Investing when the bulls rule, his time he bides
With the flow he moves, the ruler of the tides
The king of hyperbole. At once Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
He roams free and at the same time cages deeds
He plays his cards right. Evil, his regular need
Sowing seeds of hatred, shutting the door of sanity
He thrives in conceit, his magnum opus is vanity
He is the one placing a choice where there's none
Cheering for profligacy, patting your back when it’s done
The motive for every crime, the profit on every dime
It is what blurs lines to accentuate the mime
The pride in a battle of deceit, that feeling 'nice'
That extra chide, when a simple word would suffice
That feeling of elation at the neighbours fall
That scorn at the destitute, and then feeling so tall
The reason for writing a sad piece of solace
Facing it myself and throwing it on the readers face
All this is it, that’s floating me, them and you too
Only caricatured here, presented with words new
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