It doesn't matter how high they raise a ceiling.
It is the floor those folks need to put their feet on.
And open a few doors to exchange the foul air.
They've grown too accustomed to themselves.
And have forgotten who has fed their greeding.
As they stand on the backs of people,
Tired of their actions.
And professional abilities to deceive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem