It’s just the same wherever cast,
The skeletal remains of beasts,
The broken doors, and backs, and will,
And eyes which shine at thoughts of death.
The innocent will take the blame.
The ones without will give it all:
The miners, herders, old folk, kids.
The shoeless walk the hardest path.
And deep below the brutal horns
Are gouging at another throat,
And taking yet another life,
And making yet another pound.
The creature knows the way of things,
It counts its truths and deems them fair.