We don't have a name - just an ear tag,
as we stand here chewing the cud.
Where once there grew clover and buttercup
is now just a big patch of mud.
We flick our tails to the melody
of a swarm of buzzing black flies
and not one of us bats an eyelid
if another keels over and dies.
For we know where we are headed,
so don't look too close at me mate,
for one day you must search your conscience
as I might end up on your plate.