They love to kill. We love to kill.
Civilized manslaughter.
We don’t like to kill!
A travesty it is to butcher a soul, black or not.
Our feathers are ruffled as the trap door snaps.
We wake up cold black hooded and mean from many a thought unclean.
A cow, a chicken, a cock-a-doodle-do on ice.
They kill, we eat, the same, the same, we kill and eat.
(A poem, maybe only I call it that? The point its makes is that we are so quick to point our fingers at others who kill but we very quickly reap the benefits. We would never slaughter a cow but we will very easily chew on a T-bone. We abhor the act of Hussein’s hanging but we secretly harbour the same emotions and desires in our dreams to annihilate all we hate.)
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