Twig Pigs Sanguine swine, with bones of twine, Growing on a twiggy vine, The food of the future, fed on brine, Is picked, pre-pickled, ready for consumption, Grown to be mindless, happy pigs, it doesn't take much gumption, No axe or cleaver, no sword or knife, nor even blood to spill, To kill a vine picked, happy pig, it only takes a pill, Then plucked and prepared, it's ready to consume, An ecologists dream, no smoke, no fumes, No suffering endured, no blood shed, even vegetarians have their share, From poor twiggy piggies, no man refrains, They prefer creatures without their brains, The animals of the future are engineered to feed, not breed, Carnivorism has become a dying creed, The genuine swine, are done away with, too smart for their own good, The new kind are all the rage, but no one asks us why, We can't just keep our porky friends, just one or two to fry, Than rather a leafy, griefy, pinky, twiggy, vine grown pink pork pie, It's obvious that this should stop, although it begs the question why, When twiggy piggies make good bacon, it's easy to see why they lie