Peacock-like vanity propelling you,
Restless in the search for adulation,
Image of yourself so damn inflated,
Master of a self-centered universe;
A great one, yes, until you ask others.
Donning a pride as a sort of armor,
Only a world-class ego keeping you,
Nary a thought of your worth, if any,
None but that pretty face in the mirror;
Ah, to be living on such shaky ground!