Ballad of the Pig Miller


An insight into the happy, contented life of a Pig-Miller…

I could have been a miner,
Digging up the ore
To forge the mighty weapons
That our heroes need for war

I could have been a Trainer,
Striving at the camp
To weed out all the weak recruits
And find us the next champ

I thought of working at the forge,
Where all the items come from
I’d string the bow, mix the leaves and build a deadly bomb

Or maybe I’d join the army
At the barracks I would stand
With the noble imperial knights,
Best in all the land

As I wander through the stronghold,
And give a cheerful wave
I return to my place of work
Because I’m actually a slave

Beyond the pleasant fields
And through the wooden door
The muffled, panicked squealing
Becomes a fearful roar

And now you can bear witness
To this thing you make me do
The blood-caked walls,
The rancid smell
The flowing gizzard-sluice

A hundred little piglets
Ground up by the hour
For this mill is mincing pork
Like a pink and gristly flour

The cheerful blades that catch the wind
Are really just a sham
It’s the brutal cleavers that lie beneath that really make your ham!

Enjoyed this? Have a look at my other verses.

Didn’t like it? Have a look at my other verses too, maybe they’re better!

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Ah ha! A new favorite!
Such a beautiful mind. :wink:

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Eww, haha! Therein lies the ham! :grin:

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Wow this piece of work is quite dark hahaha

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