In the faces of democracy’s youth
When all things are hierarchical
It’s one of the proofs of God
But I’m a sanguine man
My melancholia is too phlegmatic
For me to be choleric long
It comes in bursts of self-defense
When I have nothing to defend
But go on singing
My denials of your being
I was always rich and poor
And seldom wanted for less or more
But I fear for the rich souls
As much as those who have nothing
Among the traps we set for ourselves
I feel these are the worst by far
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