The colour does not matter
The size is not the point
The number is unimportant
When huddled, driven off
As sheep and goats, to town.
To the slaughter-house,
To the slaughter-house,
That’s where they all go,
That’s where they’ll all go.
There’s no escape for anyone
The butcher’s knife awaits
To slit their throats to bleed
They lived to die this way
They’ll die only this way!
There’s no exception to anyone
They’re meant for meat and wool
They bleat in fear for the last time
In their journey of sure death!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
journey of sure death, I like it.