Fly high bird, fly high
away from man's lead death.
Your feathers scorched from bullets,
as you gasp your last breath. Run fox run,
We never see the fields, or sky,
not much room to move, or lie.
They feed, and fatten us, just to sell,
we are animals, so we have no feelings,
They are small human beings who lie on their beds.
with little strength left, they rock their heads.
No where to go,
no where to lie,