Can I be labeled pious,
Or a martyr, or a missionary,
Naive or just a fool,
If I cavil at the doings of a group of fat brigands?
Hoeing into goat at table,
Wiping mouths that dribble claret,
Hawking, grasping, clamoring,
Not washing their hands?
Does the innocent observer
Fall into the snare, enjoying feelings of contempt and loathing,
Wallowing in smugness,
Desperate to impose his disapproval and disgust?
Yes, enraged by the indifference
Of the gobbling hedonistic toughs
Who fail to heed the warning smoulder, he must.