It Is the Chicken Skin Wounds
It is the chicken skin wounds
by the nets every day
for a bird in a cage
hey, someone's gotta pay
It is the situation expectation
brokers seeing red
so whip it out, mete it
out on some calf's head
It is the agonizing shrieks
of a mother for a son
missing milk of human kindness
sold out for a different one
It is the height of the bench
and the weight of the bent
twisted corpse of the sow
dropping on the cement
It is the dark, cramped cell
where they're fed till they're freight
ready flesh so the bones
cannot lift their own weight
It is the gun from the wall
see the rounds be replaced
from the vice for the head
till the shot in the face
It is the heart about to burst
pounding terror in the eyes
watching next in line in front of her
another cries and dies
It is the good tail grip
to help her move down the track
that will shine brown and bruised
when the skin is torn back
It is the stain on our hands
from the marking of the beast
wasn't there a verse on
how you did it to the least?
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