Despite my imaginative nature,
I always favor reality over fantasy
I prefer a world where roses aren’t merely red
And violets aren’t blue-
-no, seriously, blue?
They’re violet.
It’s in the ******* name.
Violet.
I don’t understand the tendency to portray reality unrealistically
Why sell it up?
Why try to improve it?
Call me cliché, but isn’t the world perfect
Because of its imperfections?
Just look at the sky.
Like, right now. Look up.
It’s nice, isn’t it?
It’s always nice, too, that’s the thing.
When it’s spot-free, clean and devoid of blemish
Or even when it puts on its display of thickly-caked cloud-cover-up and rich, crimson blush
And you don’t need to see it through a rose-tinted screen.
There aren’t little panels projecting it in enhanced quality
It doesn’t fear criticism,
It’s real.
There isn’t a system in place
Perpetuating some marketplace incredulity that the sky-
-that same sky that’s there all the time,
In all time zones,
Commercial-free,  
Every day from dawn to  noon to dusk-
Is any soup-of-the-season trademark
I mean, c’mon, enhanced quality?
How do you quantify that anyway?
And while I’m the one on the stand
Why should I present my case any differently?
Why does perspective shift imply a change in wordplay?
I have a legitimate concern, from me to you
I fail to see why I should express it any differently
I want to talk to you.
I don’t want to impress you.
I want you to listen.
A simply spoken truth can be more poignant than an intricate lie.
‘Cause after all,
Wrap a lie up any way you like,
Define it with any hip terminology you like,
It’s still a ******’ lie.