Bovine Spirits of a Baked Land
I know you hate a slaughterhouse
I know what you eat with slit tongues
I know what lures your sly saliva
I know what bites your bile and bovine
I know what irks your intimate ingest
I know you love beefed up truth
I know you like cooked up lies
I know you pore hot porridge
I know you have chimes, crabs and nebula
I know you meet your muscles and minion ego
Unlike me, you cherish your bovine spirits and bile vines
Thinking about a savage kitchen, you perish in my baked lands
And I shall have you in my last supper in the retreat to unfreedom
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