If I wrote slam poetry, it would start like this...

This battle you speak of
With your fist raised high
It's not so much a battle
As it is a lullaby
And yes, there are fighters
Who say, "Now that ain't right"
But even they go home
And turn on their tv's at night
And I, among them
Can't for a moment deny
The pervasive appeal
Of the American lullaby