Francis didn't give a fuck about the rollbacks, the overproduction, reduced demand
He never gave much thought to disputed contracts, in his short life, he'd only ever known
Panic, fear, pain, darkness, pandemonium
In the hell that was his home

Fourth quarter earning expectations expedited his demise
The panic grew as the humans stalked among them
When the screaming began, Francis shut his eyes and felt the hand
Of inhumanity brush over him

But his would-be killer's back turned for a moment
A blinding ray of light spread across the floor
In a crimson pool, he saw his own reflection
As he bolted for the door

Not just some fractured fairy tale
Although I wish that that were true
This is a fable far too real
Yet we somehow still cling to

The storylines that bridge the chasm
Between cognition and belief
Any old implausible denial
That might offer some relief

From the dissonance that Francis
Left screaming in his wake
As deep into the heart of the city's park land
He made good his escape

And where, for five months, he ran free
And replayed his only fond memory
Just a warm and distant dream of

His mother's loving eyes upon him
Francis made it farther than she did
A quarter mile, just short of the city limits
They finally captured him

And there's a statue that the abattoir erected
To remind us all of their contributions
To me it marks Potemkin City limits
This Francis cast in bronze

Not just a fractured fairy tale
Although I wish that that were true
This is a fable far too real
Yet we somehow still cling to