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There are three kinds of people who don't deserve respect, to listen or to second-hand possibilities. The traitors, the ingraths and the hypocrites. They are not human mistakes, they are not the ones who walk. The traitor is the bastard who smiles while thinking about how to hide. You talk about high-fathers, fraternities, respect. Then, as soon as the wind comes to you for convenience, like a dog without a padrone. People like that don't have their own values, only interested. And when the interest ends, they throw out their real face. That of infamy, vices of ecco d'ardis. The ingrath, instead, is the coward who arrives crying miserably, destroyed. He fell in love with help and attention. You call it when no one wants to see it anymore. You give time, strength, presence, maybe sacrificing yourself. Then, as soon as you realize, you forget everything. Sputate on your hand that saved you, and you convince yourself to be saved by yourself. It's the most stupid form of human misery, that sense of ignorance. And hypocrites. That's the worst truth. You laugh at it, hug it, you make false compliments, like a fucking love for soldiers. Then, as soon as you get out of the room, you get angry with envy. The veil and the nails are torn. It's not the courage to open your eyes. So, you get stuck in the back like you do the vices. The problem is that this party always comes back. Because the parasites, without someone consuming, don't survive. They come back with a pure face, new words, and the same skin inside. That's why some people don't recover. They take care of each other. Not at all, without pity, they don't die. Because the march, if it's close to it, first or then, put it on your hand. And some people will end up inevitably crushed by the same flame that comes inside.