From the top on down,
flush with self-righteous,
This modern MacBeth
learned naught from his ancestor:
“And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Yes. Blow wind! Come wrack!
Yet no noble death awaits.
Only cold irrelevance!