By Wesley Adams
Surrounded by others who are all that I know
Our plump bodies rub together, there is nowhere to go
Born out of tradition for the meat on our bones
Born out of tradition, that is why we are grown
Every day I’m drowning in a sea of my clones
Made to look just like me,
The same bird in each home
Born out of tradition for the meat on our bones
Born out of tradition, that is why we are grown
I’ve heard stories,
Of roosting in trees
I see a tall stranger enter; he does not look like me
He stares down at all of us seeking to harvest our meat
Born out of tradition for the meat on our bones
Born out of tradition, that is why we are grown
Suddenly I’m higher than I have ever been
He holds me in his arms, they say I’ve been pardoned
Now he takes me outside
And I am free to roam.
The flashing lights blind me, and my friends are all gone
But there’s still meat on my bones
All my friends behind me, soon to be served in homes
But I’m spared out of tradition, and I am free to roam
Spared out of tradition, and I am free to roam.