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The Local FlavourFashioned from flesh, an infinite source of meats,My children flock, to this familiar feast, never suspecting, their love for me is blinding, to them a saint, the doting hand that feeds, but history will mark me as a beast, Hiding my true nature, whilst amongst the sheep, like lambs to slaughter upon them I will feast, watching the lost wander, without direction, I bless them with purpose, to be my sustenance In my kitchen countless victims, I dine upon them, and dredge their shame carving the flesh from their bones so tenderly I have mastered the art of butchery, all my victims, selected carefully, I document them and then preserve their organs, I claim the best, the finest cuts for me, I stew the rest, and feed it to the pure never think to question, the source of this treat, unwitting communion, of this divine cuisine |