Call a Priest

The egg has now cracked,

The chick is gone,

The knives sharpened,

And bodies taunt.

The light is not dim,

The head is bowed down,

The hair has gone grey,

The wrinkles formed.

The walls are now melting,

The pug has no crown,

The body of a chicken,

Cannot run for too long.

The fate of an animal is seldom cruel,

They are happy and cheerful,

Grazing along,

For the body of an animal is never killed.

For the church would agree,

To lie – a sin,

For the body of man thrives in their wings,

So, we take their lives and our own too.

As the fate of man is always cruel,

We are happy and cheerful,

Running along,

For the body of man has more than one form.