Gestation crate

I am a sow
Thats a female
And giving birth should be
The happiest day in all our lives
But thats not so for me

The patriarchal society
We find ourselves in here
They stuff us into a gestation crate
And it is very clear
They are full of bloody prejudice
Its a prison cell in fact
6 foot 6 and 2 feet
How would you react?

We are growing larger
Every single day
Cannot stand cannot sit
For this pregnancy we pay
A high price we are tortured
On concrete have to lay
Its cold and and hard
And we get scarred
Day in day out all day

A high price to be raped by them
Its all for their own end
Than they stuff us in tiny crates
Where we can’t even bend
We are clean we hate to poop
Where we lay all the time
Human beings are a dirty bunch
And all this slime

And smell its so obnoxious
But thats what these men do
They force us to be filthy
And live atop our loo
3 month 3 weeks 3 days of it
Before the farrowing crate
And all that is for saving space
They are earning
at a rate
Of knots and thats for certain
100 sows in all
No wonder countries have banned them
This infamous sow stall

The suffering we go through
So the farmers make their dough
The supermarket moguls
Watch their margins flow
Everybody’s on the make
Except of course the sows
We are suffering terribly
For hours and hours and hours

In our short lives we probably
Are made pregnant twice
Thats our lives on precious earth
Nothing for us is nice
Its crippling its horrible
Its everything thats bad
Flies and maggots and shit and piss
No wonder we are sad

And then they take our babes away
They torture them at will
Some of them they slam upon the concrete
And they spill
their brains out
Yes in front of us
How should a mother feel
But this is what is happening
This is very real

And then before my time is up
We are carted off and we
Get shipped off to the slaughterhouse
Thats how it has to be
Out throats are slit
We are hung upside down
On a bloody chain
Tortured till we scream out to our god
Time and again

And is the consumer worried?
Do they suffer as we do?
Is the farmer even a bit concerned?
When his money does come through
He is as happy as a sand boy
And we are on our way
Chopped up laid out soonest
On a supermarket tray

Thats when you come a calling
Pick bits of us, and
Take us home to cook us
If we could understand
Your ridiculous attitudes
And why you allow us too
Go through this terrible torture
As you seem to do

Cant you change this system
Of crating us to make
A little bit more profit
I know they want their cake
But we are really suffering
Chafed and bruised are we
We cry out to our natural god
Please god let us be