A Graceful waltz across a stage,

 raised high above the rest, 

Their gold flaked gowns

Pearls and beads fall in rows.

Pure and white perfection.

Wise, shining sun.

The dirt, it praises.

The golden throne smiles.

They feel awe in such a presence.

They bow willingly.

Kissing the sun's feet.

For they are dirty sinners.

Nothing more than trash.

Fools with no knowledge.

All decisions rash.

So they must pray to their neon gods.

Worship and repent.

So the endless cycle continues.

The mighty and the dirt.

They never question.

Never judge.

Never wonder why.

Despite the fact that they are kind,

They are close knit and friendly.

They are generous and humble folk.

Following each rule.

Yet every time they are sinners, 

painted black and blue.

Told they are dirt and nothing else.

Oh if they knew.

For gold  shines brightly. 

So bright it hides the teeth.

The mighty far from angles.

Spitting like snakes.

Buying blood with arbitrary power.

stealing feathered souls.

Greedy, selfish cowards.

With lustful, arrogant eyes.

Intoxicated with power 

While the well runs dry.

They are the ones in power.

Wealth like a sword.

Say a word and lose your tongue.

Not caring if you're old or young.

The bitter irony of such fate.

The mighty paint you as the villian.

And behind their silks they laugh.

At your bruised and broken body.

Like a slaughtered calf.

The sins of the mighty are plentiful at best. 

While we work and work they just feast and rest.

Spoiled rich, alway best.

Foolish, plastic rulers.

The sins of the mighty may be hidden.

Under chains and ash.

But they still break, shatter and burn.

The victims still very real.

Behind the broken screen

Lost camera reel.

Such a terrible thing. 

Out of control.

The sins of the mighty

Leaving society skin and bones.