Whatever…

There’s always a destination in life. For a chicken it’s usually hell on earth: the slaughter house. Death is seldom sweet and swift, while halls are echoed with dying clucks of dismay.

Why oh why do those primates love my meat so? why is that colonel in the white suit and white bushy beard (though with his pleasant disposition), brings an uncanny feeling; a chill of a spine rather…

Well some things in life, we just can’t understand, it exceeds our capacity to comprehend.. Some things in life, we just have to grasp on to faith and hope, and let them guide us through the darkness. A cleaver may sometime slip from its wielder’s hands and fly towards the sky….

This entry was posted on Friday, December 8th, 2006 at 6:47 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.