We are the living graves of murdered beasts, slaughtered to satisfy our appetites. How can we hope in this world to attain the peace we say we are so anxious for?
Oh, come! That boot is on the other leg. Why should you call me to account for eating decently? If I battened on the scorched corpses of animals, you might well ask me why I did that
We are sick of war, we don't want to fight, And yet we gorge ourselves upon the dead.
We are the living graves of murdered beasts.