Sitting and waiting
Inside a closed space there for the taking
My companions: They’ve been breaking ‘em off one by one
My first instinct is to run
But where would I go? Who would I tell?
Maybe we could all pull a George Orwell
Not enough of us. Oh well.
Nothing to do now but sit and wait
And think until I reach the fate
Taste has given me
Only three of us left in line now
What will they do to me?
None of us have enough food, maybe if I give them mine now
I’ll die and won’t have to find out.
Maybe if I give my self a drouth
No one will have to hear me shout.

Hanging by my hind legs
5, 6, 7 feet in the air
With a knife my skin is teared
Blood rushes from my neck
Trauma is what I bear
Now he sits in a chair
Watching me kick and squeal
Without a care
This isn’t fair
My death for a meal
All he does is stare
If only this was rare
Too often man’s problems are solved
by someone else’s despair
Whether an animal or another wer
Man has so violently evolved
That when they say right to bear
arms I say right to arm bears.