Her Spirit’s shrill cries from horrors do fly,
As Blood flows free, thick redden and lie.
Knees fold and buckle, she drops her head,
Sweet Eyes drain empty, sadden to red.
Faint Heart beats, pump last drop,
Soon She’ll wither, die but not rot.
She fades to White in Spirits’ guide-light!
As knives slice deep, clean through not quite.
Her hide made leather, her flesh small parts.
To cold storage, and packaged for marts.
Displayed with care, sly market cunning,
Makes bastards rich, and gluttons wanting.
A course attraction, your table’s delight.
With a toast to life, and a prayer tonight,
Thank the God, your life blessed so well,
Still, no care you give to another’s hell.
Spirits’ shrill cries from horrors do fly,
Cast from the lives of love’s deny.