It rings out:
a single word of truth—
a solitary shot across
plains and windmills,
amidst this silence is
conspiracy
In this farm—animals
aren’t livestock
for slaughter
has no gain
They are entitled
to their own sounds.
But it rings out:
this bullet thrust into no one
but deception into trust,
a point-blank range between
beasts and honest caretakers
In this animal farm,
creatures are incapable of silence
There is no need for a pitchfork or a torch—
only the need to make noise.
And so across the fields,
skyscrapers and markets
in every corner where everyone can hear—
It must ring out
this bullet discharged
by and against
the animals
