High squeals of the pigs echo
While taking them from behind
Whether through choice or not
All they deserve they so find
Here downwind I also smell it
A dismal stench of nasty fear
They will come to get me soon
Though why is not fully clear
Seated around a banquet table
Our hosts serving seared pork
They raise their glasses high
Toasting a victim on the fork
Blood drips from their snouts
As oinks of glee fill the air
We feast upon the dying flesh
Our family but we do not care
Shall I throw this fork aside
Refusing to partake in a game
In which players are devoured
No matter why to die the same
Or shall I ignore the obvious
As I chew flesh of my brother
Toasting to our eternal lives
We who cannibalize each other
I know this is about more than slaughter but it reminds me of the chicken trucks...
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