Kotik – The Lamb of God
There is blood on the
ice floes off Labrador
Hot, fresh, young,
innocent blood
Delicate flensed
bodies washing up on the Labrador shore
A pogrom of death -
the cause of that scarlet obscene flood.
Oh vile mankind, what
foul crime hast thou wrought?
How do you justify
this massacre of baby seals?
Your evil for three
decades, we have stubbornly fought,
Helpless as your
vicious clubs inflict millions of kills.
Your ice breaking
ships crushing frail bodies to gore,
Black booted killers
invading nurseries of ice,
Bloody flensed tiny
bodies falling like apples to the ocean floor
A shameful slaughter
blessed by preachers in the name of Christ
Babies born on the
ice in the falling drifting snow,
Warm babies with
coats of white gold.
Never the freedom of
the depths will they know,
Denied the experience
of life so their fur can be stolen and sold
Slain by thugs with
merciless souls for money,
Slain without
conscience or thought,
Supported by lies
dripping political honey,
Clubbed, crushed,
drowned and shot.
The seven deadly sins
curse the sealing man
Mass slaughter
motivated by drooling greed,
Grisly decks awash
with blood their only plan,
Living in denial of
their horrific black deed.
Gluttony driving them to kill ever more
Insatiable appetites
for the unclean profits of death
Upon Nature’s
children they wage a cruel relentless war
Bloody carnage
strengthened by alcohol and meth.
Killing to satisfy
the vanity of fashion,
Killing to adorn
conceited high class whores,
Babies viciously slaughtered
without compassion
Bodies boldly
displayed and bartered on foreign
shores
Do they envy the
seals their freedom and beauty?
Do they envy their
innocent eyes?
Or is it all just
bloodlust for easy booty?
Lust that stains the
ice scarlet under the late winter skies?
A greedy, gluttonous,
foul lust that feeds the sealer’s pride
Providing the raw
material for shallow vanity,
Choices must be made
when cultures collide
To favour sweet life
or surrender to violent insanity
Violent cultures
respond with violent wrath,
Death reigns supreme
in the sealer’s perverse culture,
Young bodies skinned
into profit their only math,
Feeding off innocent
life like Homo Satanic vultures
The missionaries once
used the baby seal, a message to convey,
To explain to the
Inuit the concept of the Lamb of God.
The Inuit word
“kotik” became sacred from that day,
For the Inuit
understood the value of the seal to the cod.
It was a sacred
circle of life long since forgotten,
Now that the Beothuk
are gone and no more,
And now bodies of
baby seals lie on beaches foul and rotten,
And the cod have
disappeared from the waters offshore.
Both species, victims
of the ignorant arrogance of man,
A portion of the
sacred hoop lies fatally shattered,
The sands of
interdependence through the hourglass have ran,
The web of diversity
has been painfully scattered.
The ice lovers from Greenland are facing doom,
Those that survive
the clubs facing an even graver danger,
There is less and
less ice and thus less room.
Smaller and smaller
grows the ice floored sacred manger
When the innocent
Arctic lamb is gone,
And the cold wind
blows silently over dark lifeless waters,
Will it only be then
when we see we are wrong?
And seals - a
semi-forgotten myth to our sons and
daughters.