Wicked

About wickedness in the world the last two lines are :/

Should I find myself displeased with the globe.
It's odious nature engenders scorn.
The ambience stains my prefrontal lobe.
So I walk the world with heels bruised and torn.
Admist the chaos my hunger endures.
A quest for compassion absent of scorn.
Meticulously looking for the cure.
Fearing the sound of society's horn.
Their wits' banal but their numbers are great.
Fearfully I lament to their mantra.
Their citizens are in a docile state.
All I hear are their faux pas and banter.
My disobedience will never fain.
Albeit if their numbers never wane.