The sound of the squealing pig

Floods of wet wild water in the desperate rain

Streams of red bile flow in 

vain

Flocks of wings birds fly

across

Burning homes murder crying

loss

For when the meteor comes by the skin of our teeth

We shall dig our graves in the 

deep underneath

We shall dig and dig and dig 

Until we hear the oink of the pig

In the stye that we built upon this flaming earth

For we shall reap as we did sow 

from the days of our birth

We shall dig and dig and dig 

Until the core of the earth echoes  

The sound of the squealing pig