Tomorrow’s sausage rolled along the road And just beyond my hasty, tasty want for a drink.
Amidst giggle and sigh, my cohorts, my companions and others Muddle the horror, or meal at ends, most likely
Come this little pigs jump from the truck Leading butcher.
In silence, I admire the –
Entrails on the highway; jump opposed shank, Surpassing my seventh mile for a Seventh heaven, Leaving me simply seconds prior Shenzhen.
Sure, little piggy’d never made it, To the market, to the feast of it all, But he’d met his end, and on his own terms.
He’d met his end and frolicked upon the Fields lacking pans and bacon grease, In opposition the role, the role we force, enforce And devour time and again;