The ducks

Seeing those birds
Against the wall
Hiding their faces
Its says it all
Their aversion
And mine too
To the foie gras farmer
Who is there to do

Is damndest really
Such antipathy
An anthema of hostility
Its so forbidding
Their purity
immersed in
Suffering so punished
In what is a
vindictive display

A torture room
We feel their fear
The fat balls Abd corn
From ear to ear
Plunged down their throats
Force fed with pain
And ofcourse it happens
Time and again

These are water birds
And they need to be
In water out there
Feeling free
Instead its up against a wall
With hurt thats going
To affect them all

Their throats are sore
Bloody and rank
Their livers are swollen
Their minds are blank
Their time is up
And they must go
To the slaughter house
The knife to follow

Such spitefulness
And dark intent
For the fat arse rich
From hell they are sent
To scoff this evil
This abusive dish
All the worst intentions
That they could wish

Diseased liver
Swollen to
Ten times the size
And this is true
It enters the lungs
And the breathing will
Get worse and worse
Until they kill

And sure enough todays the day
Knifed in the throat
Souls slips Away
To the summerlands
To the magic place
Where the angels smile
And face to face

The hell is over
The pain is too
As the liver is processed
Foie gras will do
For the princely sum
Of ten pounds or more
For some ulcer ridden
Toff whose sure

He wants to eat it
And taste the pain
The insensitive rotter
All his disdain
For life is ruptured
And left to be
For a tumour
One hopes is growing
And he
Will face the wrath
And the karmic threat
Of the vile abuse
And his coming debt.

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