| The way we treat the animals
|
| Will govern how we’re judged
|
| And if you slay the animals
|
| Your soul, it will be dust
|
| But no, the bloodless hunter
|
| Makes light of precious words
|
| He clears the land of wondrous beast
|
| He decimates the birds
|
| He pays no heed to august plume
|
| He cares not for its grace
|
| He cocks and shoots with disregard
|
| He lays the swan to waste
|
| The way we treat the animals
|
| Will govern how we’re judged
|
| And if you slay the animals
|
| Your soul, it will be dust
|
| I’ve tried to comprehend the type
|
| That must annihilate
|
| That cannot leave a life to live
|
| That must obliterate
|
| But come the fateful morning
|
| When silence rules the world
|
| We wiped it clean of every beast
|
| We wiped it clean of every bird
|
| The way we treat the animals
|
| Will govern how we’re judged
|
| And if you slay the animals
|
| Your soul, it will be dust |