eating from the trough again stuffing his mouth with glory biting the hands that feeds him because he thinks he's worthy absorbed in his deceit the lies are subtle in which he snorts to justify his inadequate morals he rolls in mud to rid himself of the shame and cleanse his conscience with his snout in the air he knows a hypocrite of his own breed pale pink skin covers up greed he consumes yet does not produce this sty is his pity palace