On October the 24th
Jen walked to the dance.
Was blood on her mind?
Not even a chance.
They mangled her body,
Life crushed down inside.
In the dirt, in the leaves, in the darkness,
Laughing, those jolly twenty guys.
Every third minute it happens again.
Just like Sally, Jen asks,
"When will this end?"
A soul-singer, her voice is,
One in a million.
Like a slave, her beaten-face is,
One of three billion.
The blood and the tears,
Fists and the liars.
Acid washing of skin,
The burning of fire
This is a curse on all of religion,
This system is livid, imprisoning women.
Every last person is held down and enslaved
When half of humanity is some sort of sub-human race.