They'll beat us down until

our injuries make other people gape

They literalize the phrase of

'whipping you into shape'

They'll rip apart our ideals

and subsitute their own

They'll take apart our every thought

and paint over everything we've known

Doesn't this make you wonder

if maybe there's the littlest bit of blue

behind the gray clouds (no, they're black)

covering the sky and shadowing you?

Doesn't this make you wonder

if maybe there's the tiniest bit of red

when you accidentally cut yourself

and white blood is all that's shed?

Doesn't this make you want to stand

and bring color back to our life?

We'll paint the sky and color our blood

just to get rid of all the strife.


More forced writing.