Plastic leaves all around,
And phony rocks surround.

They think I don’t know,
They underestimate me though.
It’s obvious that these don’t grow.

I hardly ever get food.
Most of the time I’m just viewed.
They tap on the glass and are just plain rude.
They’re quite annoying, dude.

The cheerful children go into that room.
After quite some time I hear a boom.
They’re getting tortured by The Man, I assume.
I can only imagine the doom.
They walk out with cotton in their mouth, from the torture I presume.

I don’t have legs, just a fin.
Everywhere I go I see my twin.

Although I don’t know the date,
Or my fate,
It’s much better than being dead on a plate.