Fiends and countrymen, lend me yours ears!
I’ll cut them off and try to make a purse of silk, but not of gold
When they themselves are totally blind to all that’s good.
Children at heart, their howls grow louder as they screech.
We do not hear; they do not exist except in their deluded minds:
Have pity for they cannot help this longing to be part of life.
Rage and rant but no one hears their plaintive cries for help;
Sunlight comes and they are gone without a trace, and so they
Are without a voice, if we decide they are but shadows, and no more
Than we decree, and that’s a fact, helpless, and devoid of power.