You may put a fish in water
with a filter twice its size.
You may give it food two times a day
But still, of course, it dies.
Does the hamster wheel upset you?
Does the cage foul up the room?
‘Cause he sprays like gushing oil wells
And creates some nasty fumes.
Just like Grandma’s older cats
That have used up their nine lives
Though the hamster climbs high
Still, it dies.
Do you like to see kids mourning?
With bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by their soulful cries.
Should the teacher now be braver?
Should she now go get a snake?
‘Cause reptiles’ lives are like gold mines
That can bend but never break.
She can shoot it up with vaccines
She can feed it lots of mice
It can shed its skin with feistiness
But still, of course, it dies.
Will this turtle pacify them
With its shell and beady eyes?
Will the children finally smile
At this old reptilian prize?
Out from the weight of its own shell
It dies.
Up from a cage that’s rooted in pain
It dies.
Children are crying, screaming, and mad
Welling and swelling they say they’ve been had
They bellow their grievance of anger and fear:
“It dies!”
They don’t stop, for it is perfectly clear
It dies
Regretting the gifts that their kids’ teacher gave
Dad dreams of a time when some pets could be saved.
It dies.
It dies.
It dies.
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