Dying on a fur farm

Dying on a fur farm
is a blessing in disguise
living on a fur far
those wearing
realise
hell at lease 1000 times
worse than what we see
its dreadful what is happening
and that’s our reality

but reality
that’s far too graphic
to present on here
they hide us in small cages and hutches
and the fear
explodes in weeks of misery
in hours of abject pain
in the torture of our being
and most soon go insane

the food is non existent
its maggots mostly, we
what you are expecting us to put up with
or see
really wild souls
degenerate in the space of a few days
the boredom and the terror
its really a malaise

somehow we must get out of here
squeeze, push, leap, we must
for death comes with his sickle
and his black cap full of dust
we blindly hope for miracles
its a sort of curious hope
an honest we don’t really need
any more soft soap

these vile immoral degenerates
some call men, assume
that because we are the voiceless
we don’t need any room
force us into rusty
dusty
filthy cages where
we must spend each waking hour
facing your despair

and for what?
what do you get?
out of such
blatant cruelty
is there a point
go smoke a joint
see if you can see
a better way
than what you give
us, at this present time
you vagabonds you villian’s
you are not worth one thin dime

for who wears fur
the arrogant pseudo rich brigade
money in the bank account
perhaps but good thoughts have strayed
away from what was fair and right
into the darkness, where
skin and feather and a whole host
of animal products rare

are soaked in blood and agony
in skin that’s ripped and torn
no creature was created
no creature clearly born
to take this vilest torture
as man un kind, sets to work
to strip our skin from our tender soul
your excuse is wearing thin

your fortune spent on depilatory
could probably save us all
so you go through your own agony
removing your own wool
only then to slaughter us
and wear us all instead
ensuring that we live in terror
until of course we’re dead

the cat walk shows us skeletons
clad in skin and fur
designers, and diners
compassionate they never were
they were born with a infection
of money at all cost
and so they grab our external skin
which then of course we’ve lost

and of they go a striding
proudly down the street
get those camera’clicking
life now is complete
clad in preserved animals
scraped of blood and gore
impregnated with chemicals
so they last for evermore

and some of us we get so weak
we just lay down and die
frozen to our cages sometimes
that is where we lie
when its cold our fur grows
grow thicker by the day
and thicker fur makes money
so that’s another way

subjecting us to frost and snow
a bounty for the boys
who get a bigger margin
and of course, those joys
the selfish sods why do they seek
cruelty to wear
and why do you let us suffer so
when in fact you are aware

basically because you are shits
are numb skulls from the start
profit kind of takes you over
concrete’s up your heart
your liver and your lungs
are working overtime to be
clearing out the bitterness and woe
exponentially

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