To Friedrich Nietzsche Wherever I May Find Him
Those who hold that
Poverty is the hothouse of virtue
Have no idea
Of the origin of species
For he that has not understood
That life lives off other life
Has not taken the first step
Toward honesty with himself
Behold the last man
Trapped in this behavioral sink
This madhouse
Where the frightened herd
Marches in jack-booted lock-step
Terror beyond good and evil
Confusing will to power
With pious frauds
This global asylum
Where no one here
Gets out alive
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