Going on holiday

going on holiday

thats what we thought

leaving the old barn

its where we ought

get sick and tired of the boredom and  dirt

its there when they smack us

its there where we hurt

outside the truck comes, and we hopefully

are off to the sea side or possibly

a new farm its some where

on the road then we feel

till the great rolling gates

and what is  for real

actual destination the abattoir

thats french for the kill house

its a poor deal

pushed down a ramp

and into a yard

the smells and the shouts

and the doubts it is hard

obnoxiousness beckons

rotteness too

hurtfulness,  a hot bed

of what do we do

made to march quicker

the noises

around

the screams there are many

where we seem to be bound

The Kill Box

the knives out, blood everywhere

agony pain and friends we can see

all their imperfections

there tragically

we swing and we bring

our selves into the light

no aid is coming

the choppers are out

our adversary rampant

Defiance and doubt

attacked from all sides

a right old rout

washed down the walls

our blood everywhere

its been a success

we have reached

real despair.