Thors harbour thats the capital
\nOf the Faroes
\nA craggy set of islands
\nWhere there be
\n50,000 people throwbacks
\nFrom the norse days
\nButchers of the beaches
\nTragically<\/p>\n
A medieval bloodlust
\nAn affliction
\nNo benediction hear
\nI have to say
\nThey hunt and murder
\nPilot whales
\nWhole pods of them
\nLeaving long trails
\nOf blood and sinew everywhere
\nPurgatory pales<\/p>\n
Into insignificance
\nFor the anguish that one feels
\nFor the grindadrap and the killings
\nAnd the blood lust it reveals
\nThe hunts described as the living death
\nAs the slaughtering takes place
\nOn the beaches and the
\nSea itself no living soul
\nOught face<\/p>\n
51 long fin pilot whales
\nWere savagely butchered,bthey
\nA family tree disposed of
\nTorn to shreds today
\nWho witness such unpleasantness
\nA waking nightmare comes
\nCrashing down on everyone
\nAs we hear the dying drums<\/p>\n
The heart beats of the ancestors
\nThe thunder of which was THOR
\nThe blood bath that is happening
\nAs it did before
\nPeople of this century
\nBut throwbacks of before
\nThe “Grimur Kamban” evils
\nThat obliterate the law<\/p>\n
The natural world is reeling
\nEach grind creates a scene
\nOf what is darkening degradation
\nDistress dolour the mean
\nSpirited survivors of evil long ago
\nThe phantoms rise and the demise
\nOf the angels still in tow<\/p>\n
The butchers of the faroes
\nSuch suffering we see
\nA frenzy of medieval lust
\nThe depths of misery
\nThe cries of aching parents
\nThe sighs of veteran souls
\nThe screams of little children
\nAll of them with roles
\nWithin the whale community
\nAnd are being slashed to death
\nSmothered in each others blood
\nAnd all fighting for breath<\/p>\n
You cannot describe the agony
\nNot in this day and age
\nIts as if the viking hordes were back
\nYou can sense the rage
\nIll used and maltreated
\nThe whales loyal to their pod
\nNone of them will swim away
\nThey are closer to their god<\/p>\n
Than any of these so called humans
\nAn island people who
\nHave sheep and salmon and wild birds and fish
\nBut are clueless to
\nthe suffering
\nOf these noble beasts
\nWild souls of the sea
\nHighly intelligent beings
\nAs downtrodden as they can be<\/p>\n
Wounded heavy laden
\nWith grief and angst and pain
\nHearing their children screaming
\nTo a terrible refrain
\nVictimized and threatened
\nKnifed and bleeding out
\nEven the pregant females
\nAre slaughtered in the rout<\/p>\n
They endure the wrath of evil
\nDespondent every one
\nBroken hearted sorrowful
\nThrashing in the sun
\nAll are weeping buckets
\nOffended by the crime
\nHumiliated nauseated
\nDisgusted for the rhyme<\/p>\n
How can there be a reason
\nThese sheep islands realise
\nSalmon farming massive stocks
\nWhy the the wild whales demise
\nTheir lament screams through the heavens
\nAwakens the Norse Gods
\nThe viking hordes defending
\nSlicing through the pods
\nThe harshness and the roughness
\nThe loathsomeness we see
\nThe hatefulness for nature
\nAnd how it has to be
\nA constant threat to the living
\nRetards one has to feel
\nIn what is a molestation of such
\nWhich is altogether real<\/p>\n
Its insufferable its intolerable
\nIts impossible to see
\nButtock clenching torment
\nA bridge too far it be
\nMartyrs 51 of them
\nFelt their gall and spite
\nTasted their base emotion
\nNothing here is right
\nIts grinding gruelling vitriolic
\nExcruciating pain
\nNipping gnawing throbbing
\nNo one here dare gain<\/p>\n
Any respect whatsoever
\nFrom this savagery abroad
\nIts ghastly to imagine
\nThat there could be a reward
\nFor all this awful terror
\nCommitted as we see
\nBy red knecks clothed and wading
\nIn a sea of misery<\/p>\n
Blood spattered sinew spattered
\nSurgeons of the sea
\nTearing into living flesh
\nWith such severity
\nAn insanity of spirit
\nFlailing ugly stuff
\nOdious and disgusting
\nI have seen enough<\/p>\n
My stomach it is churning
\nThe chyme inside me dies
\nNo remorse or contrition
\nI rue the day my eyes
\nClamped upon this carnage
\nThe joyless wretched sight
\nOf innocence just cut to ribbons
\nIn its final flight<\/p>\n
The wailing i can hear them
\nBut the butchers are deafened and thick
\nThrowbacks from the centuries before
\nIt doesnt click
\nWith them they are insentient
\nUnlike the Pilot whales
\nDrowning inthe mercury and the PCB’s
\nNot tales
\nof fiction or of horror
\nBut truths beyond regard
\nConsuming the flesh and blubber
\nThe inner soul is scarred
\nBeyond their darkest nightmares
\nThe pollution in the brain
\nAs they march into the ocean
\nEver more insane<\/p>\n
Watch them like some army
\nOf vagabonds and spivvs
\nMarching into battle with their long knifes
\nNothing gives
\nThe loyalty and the courage
\nOf the vanquished trying hard
\nTo safeguard all their siblings
\nStill trying to guard
\nEach other from the machinations
\nThe hideousness around
\nThe gracelessness the squalor
\nAs one by one they are drowned<\/p>\n
In massive blood loss sinew blubber
\nIntestines everywhere
\nDisfigurement, defacement deformity despair
\nMonsters really harridans
\nThats the truth I see
\nMaking out they are starving
\nButt ugly actually
\nThey have lost the plot completely
\nThrowbacks as I have said
\nThey cannot see the obscenity
\nThat is clearly in their head<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Thors harbour thats the capital Of the Faroes A craggy set of islands Where there be 50,000 people throwbacks From the norse days Butchers of the beaches Tragically A medieval bloodlust An affliction No benediction hear I have to say … Continue reading