The inglorious slaughter

I am driven to say
How the red grouse do pay
A party of toffs
The arrogant scoffs
At those of us who
Find it cruel what you do

Its known as a sport
One with little thought
A pastime where woe
Is where many do go
Beaten cajoled
By frighteners all sold
On the spirit of death
And of stealing the breath

From the iconic gift
The Red Grouse who dares
To fly in the air
And honestly shares
From a hide in the ground
The toffs do abound
Guns blazing away
In a meaningless way

Eight or ten guns
Ambushed and made
The challenge to leave them
Dont spoil their parade
Let them fly free
As a wild bird they should
Given to flight
That would be right

The inglorious time
When death comes to be
When torture and pain
Are effectively
Given by toffs
With more money than sense
And so little compassion
Primarily dense

To the true field and dale
To the northerners who
With spirit snd light
Go forward and do
Control predation
Of mammal and bird
Using traps and vile snares
Who cant find the word

To progress far away
From the killing fields where
Foxes and crows and stoats
Also share
Their wildness their nature
Their spirit and soul
And are murdered by toffs
Who take on the role

Of protecting the spirit
Alienating those who
Fight for the right
To be given to be true
Snaring and trapping
And torturing those
Gifted via Nature
To add to the prose

The beautiful word streams
Indulging the heart
Replacing the red grouse
By driving a cart
Full of shot through these angelic
Angels of light
Closing their eyes
Turning each day to night

Its unsightly and hideous
Its graceless and wrong
Defacement and squalor
It doesnt belong
In this day and age
So repellant it be
Grown men who exchange
Their will soulfully

Its in very poor taste
Its vulgar and loud
Most unrefined
Its a most hateful crowd
Who come with their weaponry
Ready to kill
The absurdity of it
The blood that they spill

Their irreverence shocks me
In their ascendancy
I have to stress
The inglorious nature
Of murder most foul
Where the upper classes
Should throw in the towel

Give up this haughtiness
This true flagrancy
Why the celebration
There is nothing to see
Just a party of guns
And a mindlessness set
On outwitting each other
And falling in debt

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


HTML tags are not allowed.