Happy pigs. So says who?

With our predisposition for forests
For rooting around in the dark
A snout in a broth of fresh truffles
Our involvement to be on the mark
Thats the freedom of feeling the rain on ones back
The emotion our happiest state
Moulded and tempered by being outside
With the fervour and ardour we rate

But here in this vile crate lost to the world
Gestation no one to condole
A stagnation and lethargy witheringly so
Unsmitten with life as a whole

This isn’t happiness this isnt life
This is a vegetative state
Controlled by a farmer
Its about economics
Something no pigs thinks is great

Disgruntlement that is our keyword
Mortification and pain
Nobody’s happy no pig in their right mind
Is happy their life down the drain

Regretting the heart burning spirit
The irreconcilable need
Sadder and wiser
Filled with aggravation
With despondency that seems to bleed

Who says we are happy
Man in his writings
Perhaps in his musing maybe
But no man who has seen us locked into this crate
Can say that we are HAPPY