God's Abbotoir Poem by Miss Fairytale

The children weep in their graves
While we eat at God's abottoir.
Like polystyrene dolls
Made to look dishonest.

Pretty corpses
Unchallenged
Shattered into shards
While we suffer happiness.

So small they're shocking
Plastered across the television,
We give them only leftovers
How do we live with this?

Beautiful dying bodies
Pale, so pale.
Dry tears fall from innocence
Dropping into dirt graves.

Look at the frail ones
How can we be this cruel?

Still, we follow
Fearing truth
As they rot
on our eyes.

If only this minority weren't so cruel
So greedy we'd rather watch
the majority die while we cram
burgers into our empty minds.

This is their fate.
This is our fate.



December 2003