What A Fish Would Say
They say that we have no feelings, that we’re just fish — a thing,
Thus, in our direction, a nasty hook and line they swing.
When we chomp on it, they yank it hard, drag us through the sea,
While we thrash about, fighting for our lives, desperately.
landed, they tear that hook out, leave us lying there,
Hence we suffer further, gasping, convulsing, going nowhere.
Or they club us; and later on gut us, unfeelingly,
And they call this sport — a way to unwind, amazingly.
The bigger we are,
the more excited they get, ghoulishly,
Dragging us for hours, ’till we’re exhausted, at their mercy.
Then they string us up, parade us, egotistically,
And they call this sport — well, we don’t, we call it misery.
let them kid you that we don’t feel a thing — we do!
For we’re living creatures, we’ve nerves, even flesh and blood too.
Hence why we thrash about, when hooked, jerked, dragged through the sea,
And they call this sport — well, we don’t — no — we call it cruelty.