What were convicts to eat then, if not us?
Our barks attracted the ragged men to us,
Like faithful mutts wanting the attention
Of their masters, we were happy to share
Our small island lot. Everything we had we
Gave you willingly, trying to help you poor
Bastards out. But this was how you repaid
The debt. Our nesting hollows you cut down
To house your mob. In your desperate hunger
You throttled us like your victims back in the
High Street we suppose. You were convicted
Once already for the term of your natural lives.
So killing more was of no moral concern, as
Long as the warden of hunger was appeased.