I wonder what you'd do
if you were I and I were you.
Industrial you'd be, you know
Produced to die once you grow.
To no avail you'd cry and squirm
No one cares if you're infirm.
My palate and my purse is all that'd matter
Your natural instincts and urges I'd shatter.
Who'd care about your sleep deprivation?
After all, you're destined for termination.
Others unnaturally suffering too
in desperation will try to kill you.
Quickly you'll all go insane
No escape from torture - only pain.
With injections your flesh we would treat
to become yummy, delectable meat.
And when occasionally we consume
something different without plumes
all us chickens may compare,
"Tastes just like human," we'll declare.
Sorry about this one, but couldn't miss the opportunity to write about the cruelties of factory farming.
Once again thanks to Willow for her prompt at Magpie Tales.