Poor Sow

The ugliness of concentrated
Animals feed organisations
Such gracelessness and squalor
Saving a pound or a dollar
Here or there
Thats what they do
To poor young sows
Just make us chew
Down on bars
Imagine that
The monotony of where we are at

we Pigs are creatures
Likened to roam
We build our nests
And like to comb
Through wooded copses
And muddy terrain
And we have no sweat glands
Just true disdain

For the farmer who
Creates a place
Of utter drabness
A stuffy base
Nothing to do
Nothing to see
No fresh air
And never free

Wailing and groaning
That nobody hears
Sighing and blubbering
And all those tears
Wasted on farmers
Whose hearts are dry
Who probably never could ever cry

Such joylessness
A sinking heart
Abject despair
Right from the start
Every day
Doom and gloom
In the darkness
Of a small room

Harshness roughness
Persecution
Botheration
No solution
Always under lock and key
Suffering their infamy
Just bars to bite on
Every day
Bloodied gums
And spital spray

A hopeless case
Despairing so
Fearing the worst
As you may know
Inconsolable
So much fear
Shivering shuddering
Always here

As for the farmer
A jailing man
Scorn and disdain
Never a fan
Of mine the bastards
They dig and sneer
And Piss on me sometimes
When they come near

And how do they see me
Not much at all
A women to punch
And chain to a wall
Lots of expletives
Every day
Wrongheaded maniacs
With nothing to say
That is good
Or is joyful
Farmers to me
Are the lowest of low
And its them that should be

Locked up a while
Let them sweat in the dark
Knowing their future
Pertains to the mark
Sprayed on their back
Meaning soon for the chop
And Thats when the biting of bars
It will stop

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