By Janet Riddle -
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The days of the chicken is full of torment
in neurotic behavior most time is spent
Within total darkness they fight to survive
each morning more won't be alive
But from all the disease none are well
so nightmarishly slow, this life of hell
Closed doors to the barn, flung open at last
finally fresh air, it all happened so fast
For the first time they see the sunlight
bewildered they panic with fright
Feathers fly all different ways
the fumes of excrement fill the rays
Time for loading slaughter day is near
crude these methods that cause pain and fear
Grabbed by their neck, legs or wings
broken bones and death this treatment brings
Literally thrown into a transport crate
kindness takes time and the men won't wait
The chickens have seen their last day
the truck is full and on its way
Without water they quickly exhaust
for cheap flesh, we demand the cost
The truck stops and they reach their final hour
in the corners they hopelessly cower
Flapping wings and petrified
from the men, they cannot hide
Backed up to the entrance door
they are not prepared for what is in store
These suffering souls grabbed out like trash
in the struggle bloody bodies clash
The men shove them down the ramps
where swollen feet are forced into conveyer clamps
Suspended upside down they look around
panicked, they hear the sickening sound
Men grab the heads and their neck is slit
but the jugular vein hardly ever is hit
It bleeds slowly when only knicked
attempting to hold in the blood, muscles constrict
They struggle this way both terrified and weak
while blood drops off their mutilated beak
Choking on blood, gasping for breath
with all their strength they fight this death
Kept alive by just pure will
down the processing line they continue still
With feathers turned red that once were white
the line seems endless with death in sight
Mortally injured, by wounds we made
her innocent life begins to fade
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