Praise to the Rich peoples or ?...

Under the wheels of luxury...

And so, making clear in advance
I know there are miles   between us;
and I reckons myself with the tramps,
which is a place of honour in this world:

Under the wheels of luxury, 
at table with cripples and hunchbacks...
From the top of the bell-tower roof,
I proclaim it:
I love the rich.

For their rotten,
unsteady root,
for the damage done in their cradle
for the absent-minded way their hands
go in and out of their pockets;

For the way their softest word is
obeyed like a shouted order; because
they will not be let into heaven; and
because they don't look in your eyes;

And because they send secrets - by ?
And their passions - by errand boy.
In the nights that are thrust upon them they
kiss and drink under compulsion.

And because in all their accounting's
in boredom, 
in gilding,
in wadding.
They can't buy me - I'm too brazen:
I confirm it,
I love the rich !

And in spite of their shaven fatness,
their fine drink's
(wink, and spend):
some sudden defeats-less
and a look that is like a dog's
doubting...
The core of their balance nought,
but are the weights true ?
I say that among all outcasts
there are no such orphans on earth.
I swear it: 
I love the rich and stupid's...