On A Hill

Noise pollution, air pollution, pollution of the mind
The run-down cottages on the edge of town
Antiquities of a past life
Scream tranquility
Deafening no one in the city

Except those who live there
There in those cottages on a hill
A mind of color cannot see black and white
Accept those who live there

Storms have minds, and who can blame them?
We did it
And never considered consequence
The storms are mad with lust, with regal authority
In their mind, cleansing the world of the minority

Sanguine, wanton, fault within
The storms have no morals but are without sin
Beyond our understanding, of course
Those at fault cannot hear the past
The future is just as silent to them
For their voices thunder across the land

And the world will fall before us!
Kneeling to our regal authority
A cause we have so moral and righteous
For the progress, for the preservation
Of Society