Richard Chase's Famous Chili

Balance the equation, let integers lie
Glance at dead nations as leaders cry
Basement blues turn skin dead white
Cement hues burn inspiration's height
Relate not to those with branded skin
A state coddled in candid sin
No, let them grace suburban farms
Grow dim in their locust swarms
For you know the truth about it all
Score the blow before society's fall
Paranoia, the only thing needed
Euphoria above their breathing defeated
Never speak or show what you feel
Forever bleak is all that's real