I just can’t imagine the solace
\nthe pain and the agony there
\nthe thought of this drags me down
\nto the dark depths
\nand into the land of despair
\nto carry one’s baby
\nand feel it inside
\nto nurse it and be there
\nwhen it wants to hide
\nto nurture it. love it
\nto cuddle it so
\nand then in the morning
\njust as the glow
\ncomes up from a sun
\nslipping further away
\nand the wind rushes inwards
\nwith so much to say
\ncarves massive rivulets
\ninto the ice
\nand there in the light
\nsomething that’s not so nice
\na blue overall a 6 footer stands
\na stick in his hand
\nhe has no fans
\nhe trundles across to me
\nlashing his stick
\nand crushes my baby
\nwho’se skulls isn’t thick
\nnot yet anyway
\nbut now he is gone
\nblood every which way
\nmilk coughed upon
\nthe ice my poor innocent baby
\nis dead
\nwith a huge wound thats bleeding
\non top of his head<\/p>\n
whimpering sighing slowly he’s dying
\na tiny baby
\nmy baby supreme
\nand why is he dying
\nmurdered by lying
\ntraders who do it
\nthey can’t hear them scream<\/p>\n
they are ghouls they are savages
\nbought by their masters
\ntold to kill babies and babies they kill
\nits the pelts they are after
\nthe skin no one dafter
\nthan them in a nutshell
\nits some sort of thrill<\/p>\n
they get as the bludgeon
\nthe babies imagine
\nthe pain and the suffering
\nthe loss and the care
\nall gone by the wayside
\nits all about profit
\nthe governments filthy hands
\nalways somewhere<\/p>\n
signing the papers
\nhanding our bounties
\nsuffering babies nobody sees
\nnobody cares about blood snot and mayhem
\nand now whats left of them
\nyes it will freeze<\/p>\n
I am lost in a maelstrom
\nof evil resentment
\nthe tiniest babies are slaughtered
\nand why
\nfor commercial profit
\nits just about money
\nthe fur hags and rag bags
\nthink its all a lie<\/p>\n
they buy into the fur trade
\nthese rich individuals
\npaying a ransom
\nfor my babies skin
\nand that baby and this baby
\nand all my friends babies
\nfashion its evil its terrible sin<\/p>\n
the flashing of sticks
\nand the brains torn a sunder
\nthe fury the jury is out
\nwho will wonder
\nor wander the white wastes
\nand give up a prayer
\nfor all the sweet souls
\nwhose death we now share<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I just can’t imagine the solace the pain and the agony there the thought of this drags me down to the dark depths and into the land of despair to carry one’s baby and feel it inside to nurse it … Continue reading