To be the man who gets up in the morning
\nShowers and thinks I will bag myself a bull
\nOr perhaps a lion or an elephant
\nYes that’s what I will do
\nDrive out to the wilderness and kill
\nAnd let the blue
\nSky and vital vistas act as a lure for me
\nGo out with my fancy bows and hide behind a tree<\/p>\n
Ambush a real live created soul who is just dying to be
\nShot and killed and torn apart
\nWho can then look back and see
\nAs its spirit leaves it’s body
\nIt just looks back and will know
\nIt’s head will soon be on my wall
\nAnd it’s killers fame can grow<\/p>\n
On TV and social media
\nWhere the dead eyes go to see
\nStuffed heads on great trophy walls
\nWhere they ought to be<\/p>\n
To imagine a world of innocence
\nWhere animals take flight
\nLiving in creation everyday and night
\nLiving with their families
\nExperiencing love and care
\nHow futile is that offering
\nWhen their bodies they can share<\/p>\n
With the Psychopathic arses ones with pockets
\nOverflowing
\nIll gotten gains from causing pains
\nTo those who were all knowing<\/p>\n
But up against the arrow the bullet
\nAnd the man
\nThey laid their lives upon the earth
\nIn the hope there would be a ban<\/p>\n
On what was known as hunting
\nCanned hunting and the rest
\nTrophies hanging on dusty walls
\nReally it would test
\nThe heartache of so many
\nAnd gradually they would be
\nStrong enough to stand up
\nFor the victims who they see<\/p>\n
But actually the hunters
\nThe rich men with their guns
\nTheir madness and their social class
\nThey passed down to their sons
\nAnd children now are killing
\nLife now is no more
\nDestruction is the wish of man
\nOur deaths they all ignore<\/p>\n
They make many excuses
\nWe have no heart nor soul
\nWe have no need for feeling
\nAnd love is not our role
\nWe are here for them to eat
\nTo chase to torture so
\nOr just to act as targets
\nSo as hunters they can grow<\/p>\n
No matter really where we hide
\nWe are victims now
\nWhether wild or domesticated
\nLike the poor young cow
\nThe Auroch Bulls the Friesland cows
\nNo matter who we be
\nExploitation rape and murder
\nIs what we have to see<\/p>\n
And the slaughter house our journeys
\nEnd
\nThat’s our lot on earth
\nEveryone’s somebody’s victim
\nFrom our time of birth
\nTo think creation never thought
\nIt through and saw our worth<\/p>\n
Was menial and thoughtless
\nAll that we are for
\nIs fodder on a human plain
\nA victim of their war
\nPurely there for torture
\nTo be hunted to be killed
\nTo be beaten to be eaten
\nAnd for all our blood to be spilled<\/p>\n
So our numbers yes they are falling
\nEden’s not to be
\nOn planet earth for our only worth
\nIs our Ivory
\nThey chop us down like forest trees
\nOr work us till we die
\nOr make us jump through rings in circus
\nThey fail to hear us cry
\nWe were Giants on the earth
\nMany years ago
\nBut up against the psychopaths
\nPhajan maybe few know
\nIt’s torture and it’s agony
\nSo as to break us Through
\nAnd get us painting pictures
\nOr giving rides to you<\/p>\n
In zoo’s on chains we dangle
\nIn monasteries our screams
\nAre not heard no not any more
\nElephants had dreams
\nOf living with their families
\nOf loving wind and sky
\nBut now we have no reason
\nTo live and that is why<\/p>\n
Our numbers are now falling<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
To be the man who gets up in the morning Showers and thinks I will bag myself a bull Or perhaps a lion or an elephant Yes that’s what I will do Drive out to the wilderness and kill And … Continue reading