We never see the fields, or sky,
by Iris Tennent
not much room to move, or lie.
They feed, and fatten us, just to sell,
we are animals, so we have no feelings,
no thought to secretion, on walls, and ceilings.
Oh! for the freedom we had, in green fields
munching, and somewhere to lie.
Not cramped, and miserable, until we die.