the men we crave,
born before our time,
abandoned hope in ages past –
so why do we cling defiantly to ours?
I'm not trying to be a man;
like hell I'm trying to be a woman –
fuck your stereotypes,
your wars, your prisons, your expectations;
to none of these do I subscribe.
dream a little dream, tear it to pieces –
the whole earth shatters when a dreamer falls.
so rise up, rise up, reach the heavens,
where raindrops bleed from mortal souls.
terrified women and angry men,
they waltz together, hand in hand,
while bitter music plays-two-three
and children cry in the corners.
fairy pharisee, you taunt us –
life, you know, is a flagrant hoax.
putrid portents we inhale like smoke
and cough, because we're beautiful.
hanging in the noose, it's certain
that pain eternal will surely end;
it's death, of course, that ends our life
before we ruin it further.
curse us, curse us, you blank false deity –
we offend each other for the sport.
you pathetic, powerless, pure invention
of desperate men, buried in lies.
cry out, then, if you have to;
it falls silent, in the end, anyhow.