To Whom It May Concern

This horn that hangs on your wall was once a strong beast roaming the wild

Flourishing in the amazon, living with its own kind

This horn was cut off the lifeless body of an innocent animal

This horn was carried through the jungle, thrown in a crate with all other horns and tusks

Only to satisfy the wants of the rich and powerful

This horn is the reason for death, the reason for extinction

The hoarders of horns hord them to the point of no more

When a horn is taken the life leaves with it

This horn is nothing but nail

But people fight tooth and nail for them

This horn was fought over with guns and knives

In the jungle and in the streets

Poachers don't care where they meet

This horn they chop, saw,  and hack away

They think they’re here to stay

Not if I have something to say.