| A Flux of Pink Indians Sick butchers I used to graze in a field Used to breathe, I used to be alive To chew the grass in the fields Could see and hear the world around me See and fear man around me Had a virgin skin, but now sold in supermarkets Now studded blankets Used to hear the cars and the birds, and the people going by They were my destiny They were my reason, my purpose in this field For their plates, their cold bodies Their car seat covers My soul for your soles of shoes You may like my taste You may like my warmth It may say in the bible that you can kill me But i don't want to die I don't want to die You try to stroke me in a field, Then go home and eat me as your meal BACK |