Howling sounds in red-dropped snow, lights those colors make some types go
Others gather around to see, how does it moan, or does it bleed
the men who travel in this weather, the work they do is hardly feather
if you think it’s worse, I say go do better, otherwise the snow gets redder
And now somehow we chase them off, we run them down, we yell, we scoff
I do not deny sometimes they’re off, but how on the doctor will you spit and cough?
to bite the hand that grabs the beast, who came again on you to feast
how will you paint the brush so narrow, because the tainted were not zero?
Do you send straight always that arrow? — then tip your hat if he’s half-way hero
For some sleep well, those lights go by, knowing men are okay to die
or take a bullet in the eye, if someone else be spared that sigh.
-More on other takes with Social Justice
