They fret and sigh
Puffed in self-righteousness,
They proclaim far and nigh
To all who care to hear.

Though the path is clear
Always they shun it
And would rather be smeared
With mock efforts to a goal.

Why they complicate things
I never can tell,
Maybe joy to them it brings
In senseless shadow-fights.

But of a truth I know
The scene they paint is unreal,
The fights, the strains and blows
Are nought but faked heroics.

They travel to the world’s ends
Singing their ‘mocracy aloud,
But lying in their eternal beds
Are those who deserve the praise.