On the Range

The bile in the rain Dissolves the home on the range Destination: fork and plate A tendon in all We wouldn't dare to pull Prepared for gripe and delay This is the year of the balded gear And the sureness of the blade Move down the line by undoubted design Each person a link in the chain And the tails no longer sway And the grass is no longer grazed For who'd ever think to give thanks to The born to be aborted One dirty peek And it's all we'd need A whiff from the trucks as they pass Meet at the gate of anaerobic fate Just how long will this last? They come out billions in number Incubated and casually plundered None bear a name, nor hold any claim To a life, stripped of all wonder And the tails no longer sway And the grass is no longer grazed For who'd ever think to give thanks to The born to be aborted I cannot describe the crime That lies beneath barcode lines Driven into green homeland Responsible for weakening Our once efficient hand What is the cost of the living lost? Deeper in each decade, questions growing But I've figured it out It is relieved by doubt But I'll shout within my knowing I will shout within my knowing