He’s just a baby yet he’ll never reach one
I could hide behind a smile
They travel without water in the scorching sun
Mile after mile
She’s fattened with babies that she’ll never know
I could go about my day
They’re denied any food because production is slow
It’s the American way.

He cries in the dark for a mother he needs
I could say he isn’t real
She’s dismembered alive when stunning doesn’t succeed
I could say she doesn’t feel
Chains hang heavy from his tender neck
I could say that I don’t care
She is desperate to move, they are desperate to peck
I could say that they aren’t there.

They are knee-deep in waste and writhe with disease
I could just close my eyes
To oozing sores and broken bones
To greed and corporate lies
They suffer in silence, their secrets well kept
I could just let it be
Instead I can’t stop thinking
What if it were me?

~The green pastures and idyllic barnyard scenes of years past, which are still portrayed in children’s books, have been replaced by windowless metal sheds, wire cages, gestation crates, and other confinement systems—what is now known as “factory farming.” Farmed animals have no legal protection from horrific abuses that would be illegal if they were inflicted on dogs or cats.~