When worlds collide
There is always cross-pollination
With worlds so disparate
It is seen as cross-contamination
In that dialectic
Spoken through blood and fire
The ratiocination that follows
Is salted earth and scorched fields
Violence is a rule
Violence begets violence
Iron fists paradoxically
Dig rebellion from the earth
The lofty clouds of abstraction
Paint the happy sky of morning
Though the smog covered battleground
Is painted the more striking shade of red
Paradox 