In the farm, there are many preys
But we count the number of crates
Bountiful harvest; all we pray
Running fast from all the lichen,
And the butchers in the kitchen
The hatchlings of the fat chicken…
Prays to survive daily movements
Tailored by kettles, pans and pots
The authority is corrupt
Dispensing tears, hardship and fear
To be fair, if you make it here
I bet, you can make it anywhere.