The canvas fills with blues and greens pristine
The windshield smears with colors all too real
It hides the mangled bruises yet unseen
Those filthy shrines are stamped with human seals
By day we fight an intellectual war
Polite debate and endless forced restraint
Red herrings fly, can't know what we fight for
The fight is smeared with heavy, broad white paint
There comes a time when we can't take their alms
Our nature wakes and massacres their pride
The shears let out a groan as metal falls
No grass, nor trees, industry homicide
I clean my windshield, colors drift away
I see reality still stands at end of day