We somehow broke the gavel
before we sentenced this
enslavement to the gallows

agriculture gave us the means
to prosper without death
without this sorry nutrients

we never had the need
for their servitude
this is a kurt reminder

this is a turning point
self inflicted solitude
our lofty sensibilities

I see the pallbearers
flanking this industry
to ignore is tantamount to taking part

the piles of new born male chicks
the bins of dying new born calves
a slick of blood and vomit

We will be the voice
of those who cannot speak
be the conscious thought ringing in your ear

we will grow in numbers
conscientious objectors
those who condemn the death of sentient feeling minds