I strip to feel the soaking sun,
to drip the yellow glare,
beneath the blue and white laced run,
of daydream's clever snare.
This foreign land or greens and reds,
and horrid spots of black,
natures paint of words worth said,
and things worth taking back.
A natural land of unnatural tastes,
human filth piled high,
a wholesome way put to waste,
a self imposing lie.