The truth burns your eyes, you can't even face it.
Althought it disgusts you, disturbs your consciousness,
I don't see you changing.
You remain accomplices of an orchestrated slaughter,
Lead by bloody hands, those of man.
When will you stop being a part of this well-oiled machine,
This industry where their life is nothing but suffering?
Blinded by your traditions, your need to be superior,
you don't see the suffering before the deathblow
This moment where their short life stops, where pity has no place.
Human activity substitutes itself for nature to take control.
Lowered to the rank of objects of pleasure,
sensitive beings undergo all the tortures.

Mass production, killed by thousands to satisfy our hunger,
Stolen from their place, to gaze upon.
Tortured for the scent of beauty,
Their presence wanted only for affection they bring us,
the only importance of their song is to relax us.
When will you stop being a part of this well-oiled machine,
This industry where their life is nothing but suffering.

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