I wonder what you actually see
As you pause at the gate to gaze at me.
Is it a dumb and senseless beast,
Or perhaps your next Sunday feast?
Maybe a new pair of boots comes to mind,
Or do you think my skin is the kind
That would make a quality three piece suite
With a stool on which to rest your feet?
I'm sure it has never occurred to you
That I have thoughts and feelings too.
It was torture when I was snatched from my mother,
Then castrated along with my younger brother.
I would have loved some calves of my own,
But they'd have been veal before they were grown.
So it's probably best that my conscience is clear
Of inflicting on them what I'm suffering here.
For I know it's just a matter of time
Until the abattoir claims this life of mine.
They're like chambers of death from World War Two.
I'll be slaughtered just like a tragic Jew.
So before you turn and walk away
And forget me, please answer me pray,
How can you look into my eyes,
Then go to the pub for steak and fries?