Conflict - Meat Means Murder lyrics

I'm walking through the grey walkway of the city And through the brightly lit shops and supermarkets And I'm walking through the fields of the innocent Pa**ing by the fairytale farm Balancing on the brittle edge of a short life That is ended by the knife The factory's still churning out, all processed, packed and neat An obscure butchered substance and the label reads "meat" Hidden behind false names such as pork, ham, veal and beef An eye's an eye; a life's a life, the now forgotten belief Yet, everyday production lines are feeding out this farce To end up on your table, then shat out of your arse Yet, still you're queuing, and still you're viewing Sawing out limbs just right for stewing Carca**es piled up in a heap Sort, soft, juicy chunks from freezers deep Well, can't you see that that juice is blood? From newborn throats, red rivers flood Blood from young hearts blood from the vein Your blood, their blood, serves the same Now you're at the table, sitting, grinning Sitting there eating, you never realise the filling It's served upon a sterile plate, you don't think of the k**ing The furthest your brain takes you, "is it for frying or grilling?" You moan about the seal cull, about the whale slaughter But does it really matter whether it lives on land or water? You've never had a fur coat; you think it's cruel to the mink Well, how about the cow, pig or sheep. Don't they make you think? Since the day that you were you born, you've never been told the missing link? As I'm gazing at the baneful products And from behind the bright colours and false smiles I can smell the lingering d**h And see the decaying skins Forth from the green gra** The pungent smell of decomposing meat That penetrates the walls of the kitchen And from the red lorries on the black In unison with the red lights and the red juice Yet, still you're queuing, and still you're viewing Sawing out limbs just right for stewing Carca**es piled up in a heap Sort, soft, juicy chunks from freezers deep Well, can't you see that that juice is blood? From newborn throats, red rivers flood Blood from young hearts blood from the vein Your blood, their blood, serves the same The Sunday kitchen spills out the stench of the abattoir The butcher's blade glistening in the eye of the 'master' The deadened life of a baby sits upon the plate The spilt guts falling from the chute to the basting tin The carca** from the carcrash In the age of the train-direct from the gates of Sobivor