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I know you hate a slaughterhouse

I know what you eat with slit tongues

I know what lures your sly saliva

I know what bites your bile and bovine

I know what irks your intimate ingest

I know you love beefed up truth

I know you like cooked up lies

I know you pore hot porridge

I know you have chimes, crabs and nebula

I know you meet your muscles and minion ego

Unlike me, you cherish your bovine spirits and bile vines

Thinking about a savage kitchen, you perish in my baked lands

And I shall have you in my last supper in the retreat to unfreedom