Waiting

Made to feel inferior
Every single day
We really feel the chaos
And all of the dismay
Transported to this show ground
The stench of human kind
We are given a number
It was a human mind
Who forced such subjugation
On us
Made us what we are
They all have such poor judgement
Biased from afar

Very little knowledge
Of how we spend our days
What we eat and how we live
Such ignorance displays
Their total unenlightenment
Their vagueness it’s unreal
Left lying in this awful air
For us how we conceal

The true exasperation
Thwarted we are by
Being humiliated
Daring to ask why
No water for our parchness
The artificiality
Honest it’s no lie to say
We really need to be

Out of here and back to where
We came from
A bit of reparation for a while
We feel here is fraught with rotten danger
Peoples fingers in our faces
We are really vulnerable
And need to reconcile

Ourselves to truly hoping
That this market or this auction
Doesn’t mean that we are for the chop
Some of the faces looking at us
Some of the words they seem to utter
That despite our confidence
We are a flop

Everywhere is sinister and hostile
When no one’s looking
We all feel the boot
Compliance is the catch word
We have to be submissive
Biddability is at the root

Manageable and dutiful
And docile
Dominated overwhelmed and wrong
Downtrodden and beaten
From Kensington to SEATON
Everything about this place is wrong

It is so disappointing
A truly thankless task
Horrible and ghastly
And in every way we ask
For a clean bed for some soft straw
For some caring Just a bit
Someone just to listen
As to why I don’t feel fit

The tedium of purpose
The compassionless desire
Every hour is dragging
Life for us is dire
It really is monotony
Sluggish and prosaic
Everything about this place
Is totally fake

It’s tasteless and it’s tawdriness
Crass vulgarity
Whether being milked or Shawn
Our deaths it seems to me
Are clearly feeling closer
Resigned we are of course
We fear the worst for certain
And halal they will force

Down our throats for certain
Slaughtered for the way
The farming people look at us
And smack their lips
And say
About our rumps and porterHouse
About our milk and they
Talk about our leather our liver
And our wool
We have to be unhopeful
Knowing their purses full

Of the desolate and forlorn
The cynical the sad
The cheerless and unpropitious
The ominous the bad
Fear we are all shivering
Uneasy as can be
of course we have misgivings
And YES anxiety

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