Violence as real as two men in a brawl,
Some misspoke, careless word,
Or bloodshed between soldiers in the field,
The sentiment's the same,
Anger at something outside of yourself,
Reduced to an object without a name,
But more than that, for who cares about things?
You can only hurt life,
Life all removed from what you understand,
But can still feel the knife,
So, so do you,
You're hurting yourself, see?
It's the pain you imagine th'other feels,
Giving meaning to your reality.