Les Rêves Canadiens

Death Of The Owls

                        Gorging on the flesh of wood
                        Scoffing all, on it goes, devouring
                        Driven by a fantasy of selfish gluttony
                        As it grabs its hoard cord by cord
                        Like candy at a street parade
                        It snaps up our jewels and gobbles
                        Piling the bodies, dead in rows
                        Spitting out the limbs, keeping the torso
                        This thing from corporate hell
                        Welcome to the business end, and on the other
                        Fluffy stuff that wipes your ass
                        On and on, raping, night then day, feasting
                        A filthy tongue spits from its mouth as the
                        Man made monster hacks off one more head
                        For the boiling pot, one a minute
                        Keep going, oblivion is just around the corner

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