There they sit squabbling
Up in a tree or on the ground
Waiting greedily for the next carcass
Laughing, they don't care how it got dead
Always waiting to rip to shreds
Pushing and shoving to be the first
They yearn for blood but it's rotting flesh
They will pick and pick, till the bones are bare
Their sharp beaks, squawk who's best
They preen their feathers ever so proud
The putrid stench still sticks to their feathers
In their committee they huddle, another to devour
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