The Meat Locker

Chains hang from the rafters
Holding bloody ever afters
With a cleaver in the skin
Cooking hogs from within
As they tug and they pull
Squeling down from the hull
Sights will turn to grey
Bodies will be flayed

It's a mean old grimace
Lopping limbs in the furnace
With the crackle of the fire
Representing cold hard desire
Desire for the meat
Dying out at our feet
Lighting once again
Slaughtering hogs in their pen