I'm stopping by our greengrocers, stepping in to buy some veg,

I'm spending out my money on the greatest thing there is,

But . . . there's no where else to spend my dough, the shops don't sell my stuff,

So, walking down the high street don't exactly make me laugh,

And getting home to think it through, I'll hardly tell a lie,

The things I've seen, the shops I've passed, just wanna make me cry.

And all I see behind the glass are creatures buried there.

And shoppers and shopkeepers, who really wouldn't care.

So . . . I'm walking past the restaurants - don't eat in any of them,

And passing by the cake shops - and I won't go in any of them,

And running past the shoe shop, (my shoes don't come from there)

And hastening past the deli, with dried sausage in their window,

And stepping past the leather shop with clothing in their window,

And hurrying past the butcher's shop with hangings in his window,

And scurrying past the fish shop, all those eyes staring up at me,

And all I see behind the glass are creatures buried there,

And all the shops and bistros leak a cemetery air.

I'm sad for all the humans who are spending hard-earned cash

On the products of the abattoir that's processed into trash.

It's all dead stuff,

On show everywhere,

Dressed to look like something else,

In windows everywhere,

Disguised and dyed and hiding death

And shown and spruiked to look like health.

I choke past the café, frying eggs and burning cheese,

I edge past the milk bar, (they call "hey, you come in please"),

And I look ashamed at flower shops, with pots of severed blooms,

And all this stuff is feeding kids and going into homes.

It's dying stuff, or drying stuff or dressed to look like new

It's slim pickings on the High Street, for vegan me & you.