Mortification

Easter a time when monsters
Partake of baby meat
No compunction there at all
It’s seen as a treat
A tiny little baby
A lamb is how it’s sold
A bouncing jolly lively soul
Worth its weight in gold

To its mother but it’s slaughtered
Throat cut, bled out, dead
It was just elated
Lying in the shed
Looking up at the farmer
That jolly faced smiling chap
Who sprayed it’s skin with killing paint
And it rapidly was led

Off to make its maker
No regrets at all
Easter was the lambing time
We heard each whimpering call
Blubbering lamenting
Moist eyes seemingly
What a really pathetic time
Deplored by you and me

It’s poor taste that’s for certain
Artless vulgarity
The supermarkets push the stuff
The indelicacy
Boorish impoliteness
Evil if you asked me
Cynical and disconsolate
Laced with savagery