If it's the farmer's will to harvest this ****
Fill it's heart with anger for it to feel no thing
Before the sap from it's core flow out of it's leaves
The blood on its vein dry up in the heat
For wrath makes a good reliever
From all the roots that was beneath her
Dig it up from it's grave to deliver
And rip it up from the soil and repocess her
For a **** that brings no good
A pest that steal for food
A Vulture that rejoice in death
Is there such a thing as regret?
For the weeds were made bad
From the earth exhalted
To the heavens departed
What mercy can this **** plead?
A **** that churns good air we breath
A rat that for others is a treat
A vulture that completes the cycle of death
Is there a room for forgiveness and help?
If the time for this **** to take a bow
Send it of in ways where no pain is allowed
Like a switch of a bulb turn off it's light
Stop it's breathing in an instant