Sick Butchers
Flux of Pink Indians
Used to graze in a field
Used to breathe, I used to be alive
Did chew the grass in the field
Could see and hear the world around me
See and fear man around me
Had a virgin skin, but now
Sold in supermarkets now
Studded blankets
Used to hear the cars and the birds, going by
And the people going by, they were my destiny
They were my reason, my purpose in this field
For their plates, their cold bodies, their car seat covers
My soul for your soles of shoes
You may like my taste, you may like my worth
It may say in the bible that you can kill me
But I don't want to die, I don't want to die
You tried to stroke me in a field
Then go home and eat me as your meal
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