A poem by Dean Farnell
They stood there dressed in white,
Their gowns all stained with blood,
The smell of death apparent,
It fills our neighbourhood.
These men they had no mercy,
The police just didn’t care,
They carried on their killings,
Just like I was not there.
They won’t be charged with murder,
The evidence is lame,
No DNA can save them now,
The meat to them was game.
I go and try to reason.
To the men who dressed in white.
They waved a sharpened object.
When I told them It’s not right.
The smiles beamed on their faces,
With their corpses all around,
I just have to come to terms,
A new butcher shop’s in town.