The faroes

200 miles from Scotland
Rugged cliffs proclaim
A pardise of seabirds
A people who are game
To run the ocean gauntlet
To drive the pilot whales
Whole pods of them onto their beaches
To the shallow water trails

Idyllic sandy beaches
An army of murdering scum
With all their certified weaponry
Encouraging them to come
The loyalty so evident
Of wounded family souls
No pilot whale will leave them
Each take heric roles

This is just their make up
Cowardly they are not
They are valiant and chivalrous
So much so the lot
Would never leave an injured friend
And the murderers know this
Unbowed and unflinching
Until the very end

And ofcourse the end is inevitable
The army brandishing knives
And lances just no chances
To escape with their lives
Children cut to ribbons parents
The sea taken on a claret hue
As tonne after tonne

Are pulled ashore the people
Clothed and all wet through
Absolutely smothered in blood
These islanders are true
To tradition so they tell us
Desensitized are they
Alongside their children
Bloodied in the bay

Are these people starving
Denmark does not whale
But allows the faroes islanders
To just go off the rail
To create this evil blood bath
And participate and cry
Blood curdling sounds of terror
Underneath the sky

They eat lamb a plenty
And fulmar caught at sea
Puffins yes and puffin eggs
Less and less now be
Into killing wild whales
For they know the mercury
And pcb’s and DDT
And so much else now be

Really its a blood sport
Its ghastly and the world
Looking on and what they do
Each family being hurled
Cut to ribbons sawn to pieces
In the sick melee
A blood letting of intelligent friends
A real catastrophe.

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