a man’s path, always observed, by those who love,
and they who calculate the fall lying in wait.
to gloat, jeer, and compound the hate.
minions who dwell deeply, revel loudly with
voices pitched perfectly to salt the wounds,
sway to and fro to feast on woe.
so sad an assembly, all eyes peer downward,
having no courage nor tack,
so vile their gazes dare not meet.
tread soul-less creatures, alone in conceit,
no pairs...just one on one replete.