The Butcher’s Knife

Their hands ain't tied, free to run, but they don't move a wink
They don't know where to go, forgotten how to think
Pavlov's dogs on hind legs waiting for a sign
One by one they march into the sheperd's fire
Sheep without wool
Are heading for
The butcher's knife
A pedigree of sinners and saints follows as he sways
A piece of bread and a mug of wine to bleat another day
Goats are friends, birds ok, pigs are enemies
Cause of the mother of mothers' shame siters have to bleed