Francis didn't give a f** 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 k**er'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