Smack in your Big Mac sits a slaughter house,
stinking of blood, where frightened creatures groan.
Bite into their pain. Slather it in sauce.
Pretend their lives are not precious as your own.
Smack in your Big Mac sits a slaughter house.
Prey if you must and gorge on flesh. But if
all is holy, your crime is sacrilege.
Hope that God will not give you a whiff
of the mountain of corpses that is your sewage.
Smack in your Big Mac sits a slaughter house.