Whose chicken?

Manufactured life forms
Chicken flavoured they
Are just about existing
But not grounded in any way
Enduring and developing
Into beasts of woe
Their lives we have turned upside down
In just how fast they grow

An emptiness of feeling
An absence if control
A non existent absentee
Who possibly had a soul
Who possibly had ancestors
Rendered null and void
Abolished by genetics
Tasting more like celluloid

An outwardness of something
Alien perhaps
Radical and virtual
A machine that only craps
And sits within the excrement
Bathes in a maggity soup
tightly crammed together
But none of them in the loop

Churping burping balls of skin
With feathers rough and course
Shapeless and untidy
As to their life force
Really inconsistency
And adnormality
Untidy and chaotic
And anything but free

Growing like the clappers
Their breasts develop fast
Before their legs can hold them
Its as if they are cast
Into eccentricity
A prototypal place
Emulously synthetic
Infact quite a disgrace

And if course there is no harmony
No consensus we can see
This is just a death camp
Where angered souks can free
Themselves from what us bell on earth
A darkly dreary den
Where buckering snd controversy
Are spoken of by men

An inopportune existence
All misplaced lets say
Misfits misajusted
And more mistakes each day
A true disequilbrium
Inadequate and poor
The stench if death is everywhere
How can we ignore

Its piss and poo and death itself
Its pus and acrid stale
There is no compensation
Its just a sordid tale
Just 8 weeks and they are ready
To be slung into a crate
And shackled on a guillotine
To await their fate

And its all done indiscriminatly
Each bird can understand
What is going to happen next
Nothing there is bland
Its evil and its ugly
Terror walks and sighs
They shake and shuffle
Upside down
Before the realise

Their end is near
Their saviour is coming with a thrust
Their heads are severed if they are lucky
This stage does disgust
BAIADA in West melbourne
A concentration camp
A death house full of torture
And where violent heavies stamp
Their dislocated energies
Their unmethodical ways
Its orderless its jumbled
It is no oassing phase

Manufactured life forms
Chicken flavoured gruel
Genetic formulations
Truthfully they fuel
And anger and frustration
In the bard today
Who has to witness all of this
And snell the vile decay

And listen to the sales pitch
In the super store
Spiced and salted and wrapped in herbs
So as punters will adore
The beautiful tasty white flesh
That just falls off the bone
Drenched in pain and torture
You can almost hear ut groan

Even in death its murmurings
Each harbinger of sin
Who suffered like no other
A victim of the spin
The assemblage of the innocent
Purely babies still
Who outgrew their existence
And really lost their will

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