They’re
Too senile to understand their hypocrisy
Too long gone to see the destruction behind them
Too blind to know their stupidity
The buffoon dies quietly in his home
The despot lies dead in a ditch
The bigot sits in his next throne
No hell for them
Nothing would work
To make them see
To make them regret
This is the shadow
It is formless and dead
It cannot transform
They’re stuck
And we’re stuck with them.
Pat's Hyperbolic Arboretum 