"If slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be vegetarian" - Sir Paul McCartney
Our diets are dehumanized,
still we look into inhuman eyes,
ignoring helpless, painful cries.
We're fed off with excuse and lies.
No slaughterhouse is made of glass,
as they're producing corpses by mass.
Digging common graves till our hands are red, euphemisms cover the blood that's shed.
This delusion of our minds led to a repression
of our compassion,
we're not shocked, if someone's wearing fur
as an accessory of fashion.
I'm writing this, because it took me 18 years
to finally realize,
that it's not arguable if for our pleasure or comfort any being dies.
It's lives we treat as basic commodity,
our blind eye to this genocide is not even an oddity. It's rape and murder we take for granted - compassion turned to the proverbial seed unplanted. (A house of bricks. Cages of steel. The pain they feel. The concrete ground. A hollow sound. Throats cut by knives. They're ending lives.)
Oh, humanity can be so damn pathetic,
scrawl blood into your face and call it cosmetic. Vivisect creatures just to stare at me in defiance, claim it's done for the survival of humankind and call it science.
Serving the menu or just the mortician?
You eat desecrated corpses and call it nutrition. How'd you like your raped carcass today?
Roasted or fried?
Thousands of biddies live in their own excrements in filthy sheds,
think of your meals this week and count the severed heads.
Pigs who aren't growing quickly enough
are killed by being slammed headfirst against the concrete ground,
another life, that ended without ever breathing fresh air.
Just endless seeming suffering, then
- a hollow sound.
These sickening images rarely take a public toll.
The "slaughter-cover-up machine" is spinning out of control.
And so beings are still beaten to death with sticks, hidden in an industrial fortress - a house of bricks. It's the concrete walls that satisfy.
No slaughterhouse is made of glass.
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