Below the belt, below my level,
blathering free,
the ensemble of simpletons
are slandering me
with wild accusations they
plucked from the air.
To say them in person they
never would dare.
For logical arguments
they have no use.
Instead they can conjure up
empty abuse.
Not listening or responding to
a word that I say,
the ensemble of simpletons.
Common are they.
With minuscule arrows they
fire at my shins,
they boast of their huge
intellectual wins.
Above their heads, above their lives,
I stroll through their town.
The losers of Lilliput
can’t tie me down.
