What they do to us is wrong
\nGentle as the day long
\nOur individuality
\nCornered by depravity
\nWe enduring pain and thrust
\nA constancy of true disgust
\nYou cannot imagine
\nHow we feel
\nHow sick inside
\nAnd just how real
\nIt is to be a cow today
\nA mother a my child on the way
\nStill they beat us
\nStill they try
\nTo put us down
\nAnd watch us cry<\/p>\n
Oblivion can sometimes be
\nIn our marrow constantly
\nMilking half to death are we
\nAnd suffering considerably
\nApparently if needs be
\nThe slaughterhouse
\nWe just could see
\nShipped out early
\nOn the truck
\nBy the farmer
\nWho doesnt give a fcuk<\/p>\n
Wherever his heart is
\nGoodness knows
\nA slovenliness it grows
\nAnd grows
\nA right old rumpus
\nIf you ask me
\nA shambles for the world to see<\/p>\n
There is no order
\nJust disarray
\nChaotic and messy
\nAnd they say
\nIts nihilistic
\nAnd scary stuff
\nWhen the ride there
\nBecomes too tough<\/p>\n
You are with others
\nYou are on your way
\nThe monotony of an endless day
\nThe smell of fear
\nIt feels bizarre
\nIts uncharacteristic
\nNow where you are<\/p>\n
What of my baby
\nHow is she
\nWhy are we travelling
\nIt shouldnt be
\nThe flickering lights
\nOn the road we see
\nSomethings wrong
\nIts inopportune
\nMy baby isnt due till June<\/p>\n
I feel unsteady
\nMy fraility
\nIts really the vulnerability
\nBeing a mother
\nDown the line
\nMaternity offers
\nAnd ofcourse mine
\nMy little calf
\nHe wriggles a bit
\nWhere are we going
\nI need to sit<\/p>\n
Down in the truck
\nI cant stand anymore
\nMy feet are aching
\nEverywhere’s sore
\nThe truck is moving
\nSwaying about
\nTesting my legs
\nAnd I am in doubt<\/p>\n
As to why they are moving me
\nAnd why today
\nAnd there is others around us
\nThe pressure does play
\nOn my mind
\nAt that moment we are slowing down
\nWe are reaching the place
\nSomewhere out of town<\/p>\n
Down into a yard
\nI can hardly bear
\nTo stand up and walk
\nNow anywhere
\nIts to a lower level
\nWith lots of light
\nA wet tiled floor
\nIt just didnt feel right<\/p>\n
Ominous noises
\nOf creaking and all
\nThe smell of blood
\nAnd guts on the wall
\nThe shrieks i could hear them
\nThe rattles of chains
\nMen in blue overalls
\nAnd great big drains<\/p>\n
Bloodshed and butchery
\nAn abattoir
\nToday was the day was it
\nThe day I star
\nIn my own vile death cycle
\nAnd with my dear son
\nWe enter a death
\nWhen the dear day is done<\/p>\n
Swept off of my feet
\nOne hind foot high
\nSwinging on a chain
\nThe strain as I fly
\nAnd a great blade
\nAcross my throat
\nIt felt so sore
\nBathed in my own gushing blood
\nOn the floor<\/p>\n
A cut made my dead baby
\nPulled from inside
\nAll floppy and wet
\nAn instant where pride
\nOvercame the last throes
\nOf death which for me
\nSaw my soul rise and disappear
\nClearly i be<\/p>\n
Gone and my baby
\nCalf skin to be
\nHis stomach lining
\nA coagulant he
\nAbused for the cheese
\nFor the junket the cream
\nAnd now at the
\nGreat rainbow bridge
\nBy the stream
\nOf life giving love giving
\nSparkles we be
\nHaving left planet earth
\nAnd its sick purgatory<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
What they do to us is wrong Gentle as the day long Our individuality Cornered by depravity We enduring pain and thrust A constancy of true disgust You cannot imagine How we feel How sick inside And just how real … Continue reading