Lambs mint sauce and a hot plate

You’ve all got fucking eyes to see

a LAMB is a baby sheep

a bouncing spring like joyful soul

who frolics in the deep

grassy verdant meadows

who plays with breeze swept

flowers

as innocent as the day is long

his animated hours

are spent at chasing butterflies

and following the sun

dancing round and round and round

like lambs have always done

but then of course

the butcher man

wants lively loving souls

wants to have them killed

and chopped up

for they have their roles

to keep to

lovely tasty tender lamb

on restaurant plates

turn the grass to concrete

and take down all the gates

send them off to the abattoir

that house of death where they

will receive the mark of  terror

and of course will pay

In  Italy they were not stunned

just throats cut with one sweep

imagine this a joyful soul

is guaranteed its sleep

the sleep that becomes long lasting

so that human unkind can

chew upon their tender breasts

and legs fried in some pan

a little mint sauce chopped

and with some vinegar

then swept

over the dead flesh sparingly

as the mother wept

she wept her eyes  were red raw

the farm yard knows the pain

the agony of losing a child

it really is the bane

of every single mother

that there has ever been

and to know that it has been eaten

for that mother is obscene