We are the living graves of murdered beasts,
Slaughtered to satisfy our appetites.
We never pause to wonder at our feasts,
If animals like men could possibly have rights.
We pray on Sunday that we may have light,
To guide our footsteps on the paths we tread.
We are sick of war, we do not want to fight,
The thought of it now fills our hearts with dread,
And yet we gorge ourselves upon the dead.
Like carrion crows we live and feed on meat,
Regardless of the suffering and pain
We cause by doing so.
If thus we treat
Defenceless animals for sport or gain,
How can we hope in this world to attain
The Peace we say we are anxious for?
Thus cruelty begets its offspring—War.