A Daft Race

I see them everyday

Innocence, perhaps ignorance, discharged from every orifice

Their dreams in the open so easily swayed

A doctor says one, but I, believe otherwise

When they can barely tilt their heads to say

Their beliefs when disdained

Ah, and how they tempt the critics

They do not know the amusement I gather

For everyday is the same, wafting within the world's antics

Few are those to make a schism

And those I do not ridicule, for the heretics

Therefore, for them there is no slight of hand

And I will go on and continue

To be disgusted at the rest of the world.