Irreverence
poor little soul
only just born
and it seems that my role
Is to give my respects
for the slaughterhouse men
And the Meat Trade
We may end up In sausages when
we go through the iron doors
get skinned and depart
from this life right now
I with a broken heart
not a suckling pig
not a chop or a rib
not a leg or crisp crispy
And that’s not a fib