Point of view

A quandary my dear, is it not?  
A curious state of affairs, on every twist and turn  
What what my dear? What is this that you say?  
A villain he must be?  
Why must he be?  
His deeds you say?  
But my dear who is to say, he is not a hero in his brain?  
What is bad, what is good?  
I cannot say. Can you?  
The line between good and evil, so often is it blurred  
Why murderers and rapists can be heroes in their own eyes  
Even a babe, just born, can be a villain to another  
    
What of me, you say?  
What am I in my eyes?  
Why truly, my dear, I am of the feline persuasion  
Sauntering down the path of life  
Paying no heed to the wandering masses  
And if I lose my path and my head in the package  
Well, my dear, of lives I have eight more to spare  
And if I grow and tired of the endless road  
A rug and a fireplace will be mine from then on  
A bowl of cream by my side  
Simplicity and decadence all in one turn  
    
What is it that you say my dear?  
What if kings fall and kingdoms crumble?  
What then shall I do?  
Well then frankly, my dear, I shan’t give a damn