Real birds that I've seen don't look like this It's absurd to think that they could coexist There's something different about the way they fly A fine distinction that might have caught your eye
I must draw a line between what's yours and mine I'll take the tainted fish and you can keep the swine You rattle off the numbers and catalog the names As a million butchered quadrupeds dangle from your chains
I don't mind that you built a slum behind your failing factory Or that your dunghill mill spins and spills these monster prodigies It's just the noise of the carving boys in the farmhouse down the road And the stench of rotting meat when the river overflows
You kick up dust in search of footprints, fungus, moss and mold Sketch and map, chart and graph every living thing you sold Despite all your statistics, your diaries and scrolls The species that you listed died out long ago
