A dirty sheet

Found this letter in hands of a dead pauper on my way from station in the morning. A very dirty paper written on, in almost illegible handwriting. Here I reproduce it to the best of my cryptographic skills and i dare apologize in advance for I ain't too good in this job:

"I am a mad man! Yes, go ahead mock me, look at me with disgust, with contempt. Pity me, ain't I a filthy creature! Not worthy of being called a human, you miserable loathsome ants! All you self-appointed guardians of morality and decency, all you liberal cowards hiding behind your purdah of self inflicted non-violence, all you extremists killing a part of your own God for His sake. You rich snotty got-here-by-my-own-hard work jackasses, u sympathy-hungry lazy destitute bastards! It is I who face the wrath of nature everyday, it is I who return to her every night. It is I who live in sync with her. Look at that bird, how beautiful it is, how free in it's cares, how unchained in it's flight. Yesterday I saw a fledgling being eaten by a dog. It was raining then. Ah! the pitter-patter of rain drops like the footsteps of people walking from station in the morning. Chris is a nice man, u know under-appreciated and that sort. Christy? who? You ask You egocentric homo-sapien. Christopher Marlowe?? Author of Doctor Faustus? Bah! leave it. He's melancholic nowadays all that ado about Shakespeare bloke. But u thought I was mad didn't you. Yes! Yes! I am mad, idiot I am not. I have read, read a lot. All those posters you prima donnas don't care to even look at, those old torn books you discard,I read them. Chris and I have long discussions about life usually. All this talking and discussion makes my throat dry. But where do I get water to drink from? You don't care, do you? No one does. Throw a coin at me, even, you won't and cry you have to if you have less to drink, you will. I hate you, I hate you as much as you hate me or less for what does a mad man want but to get sane but what is a sane man nowadays but an insane.