Ancient thing like a chicken wing eaten a million years ago, back when chickens were wild-eyed creatures, paranoid of being killed by an insect the size of a dinosaur to you or me. They were crazy looking creatures—more like lizards with long hairs sticking out of their skin-bumps, tickling the ground with their beak-teeth snapin' at seeds, combing the ground underneath the mega-gigantic trees.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
Buzzard bugs they are a comin'!
Skree! Skree! Skree! Scream the chicken guts! Scree! Scree! Scree! Eat the chicken up! And lick the chicken that's left stickin' to the bottoms of thier bug feet! Feeler licking good! Can you feel me? Cause the chicken bones don't lie, they wait and they wait 'till they're pressed deep enough into the earth to make a lasting impression turn into a fossilized escape.
Birds of a feather flock together so the ones on the outside get eaten first. Stay close to the middle where you're safe from the threat of going missing in the night—taken by an insect with a fowl appetite for raw chicken meat.
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