Many chickens passed away
So you could have a meal.
You killed them and ate their eggs;
How does that make you feel?
Many chickens were beheaded,
Plucked, and fried in fat.
Because of that, I feel full
And I’m okay with that.
Many chickens passed away
So you could have a meal.
You killed them and ate their eggs;
How does that make you feel?
Many chickens were beheaded,
Plucked, and fried in fat.
Because of that, I feel full
And I’m okay with that.
Filed under Poems