Born on the sabbath.

Life a month of Sundays is what this sacrificial lamb was destined for.

Hurt taught the lessons. 
Pain had it's demands. 
Control was in the way. 

Forward seamed impossible, back was in the past. 

Sacrifice you may be, but that doesn't mean you don't charm me. 

For in a way you're quite appealing, as you say  things with enormous feeling. 

Some call it shame, you slaughter lamb, don't you  absorb the blame. 

The stars align you made your stitch in time. 

Oh lamb where's your shepherd. 

What barb wire fence, hedged your pen. 

Lamb I don't think Mary's coming. 

The led astray is always looming. 

The paddock is not always blooming. 

There's ground that is not flat, there's moor's infact. 

For those like Rapunzel  and her brave  knight who fell onto the bramble and lost sight .
 
Spring lamb ignore the doom. 
Or gloom. 

Your time here.
will be gone soon. 

​​​​​​Enjoy the grass while you last. 

For hunter's spot you, plans to shot you . 

You stick out like a green thumb over there. 

Born on the sabbath, they plan to cook you alive. 

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