From a joey to a football

In the pocket of life sits a joey
Flushed from its mother, so sweet
A corn of a boy
A pencil of joy
Soft on the ground
By her feet

Her kangaroo baby is crying
Swept into life on a dream
To grow and experience the outback
With a skin of pure sunlight and cream

To leap into futures and suffer
The plight of the sacred and blessed
To be slaughtered and skinned
And be left on some heap
In the cool of the night
With the rest

Lifeless, so worked into leather
The skill of the ignorant ply
New leather real leather footballs
For the great karmic pitch in the sky

Kangaroo leather
i must now surmise
Is the skin of the dead who fear such disguise
I cry by the light of a silvery moon
dear joey this was your honest high noon

The sick fellow fired you fell to the ground
Unbelievably now your heart will not pound
The ants will possess
The maggots redress
Will mankind confess
His work is a mess

Will they heed the call
Furnished into some ball
To be kicked at
For those bastards who kill
In the pocket of life
Sits a Joey as rare
As the vast green
Rainforest
that was also
Once there