Boiling

Lobsters have more feeling
That pain imagine that
Boiled alive
Who could survive
Where are such humans at
Chefs so called
Inveterate louts
Screwballed heartless sods
Boiling water
Soupy smells
Hail and mighty Gods

Cometh to the frothing pan
As blood and guts begin
To trickle from the softening
Dragged out by the sin
Of so called human beings
Who take a living soul
From the depths of some dark ocean
That someone else had stole,

And plunged them into temperatures
Where wickedness explains
Such baseness and such vileness
The agony like chains
Of ugliness, and frightfulness
Escape to be the plan
Poked about by so called chefs
The ugliness of man

And who waits at the table
The tablecloth all white
A women and her lover
They have no thought of fright
They can smell an abomination
The liquor of the deep
The blood and guts the excrement
And to soon they will reap

The death throes of the vanquished
Who lost its quest for life
Paid for by the human
Who abuses with his knife
Chops into the chitin
And chews the guts and all
All the rotten contents
Dredged up in the trawl.

An in their worm infested
Stomach a dark hole
A rotten immoral cavernous stench
Where corpses flat and roll
In this infernal oven
Of vulgar abandoned lust
The women and her lover
Yes my dears disgust