we make it true or else

we aren't aware of what's been hurt
by all the changes that we've made
our minds can't see the sad parade
we treat them all with manner curt
there'll be no chance to shout or blurt
the truth that a spade is still a spade
they'll feel the touch of boot or blade
and lie there weeping in the dirt
all healthy folk look on the place
where winners stand and take the prize
we know they've got what they deserve
only the swift can win the race
only the great have fearless eyes
the rest may only scrape and serve