An Ode to the QOTH

I smile blankly in apathy as you hang yourself on a cross. Your self proclaimed righteousness gives your blood a foul stench that permeates from your body like the odor of decaying fruit, making my throat burn and my head ache. I must warn you that when you construct your own high road of ignorance and illusion you can only follow it as long as you can find new lies to pave the way. Soon your age will show your faults. I hope that you don't break your crown as you fall.