Oh hunters, my mother is a rug
I never got to say goodbye, or give her one last hug
Oh Hunters, my mothers head rests on your wall, her pelt sleeps on your floor.
My siblings died from starvation, 1,2,3 and four.
Alone in the cold i cried to you, but you just slammed your door.
Oh hunters my father still stands up straight, but his eyes are dull and still.
Oh hunters, we are on the brink of extinction yet you still choose to Kill.
Oh hunters i am just a cub, but does my voice still matter?
Can you hear it, can you see it? Bodies start to scatter.
Can you hear it? Can you see it? The ice is starting to shatter.
Oh hunters we struggle as it is. . .
Oh Hunters we are weak. . .
We no longer have the strength to fight back. . .
What is it that you seek?
What is it that you hope to achieve?
Oh hunters. . .
My mother is a rug. . .
" -August Kat
©sweetchili
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