A vacant heart,
a departed love,
a shattered mind,
a broken life,
a woman crucified,
and suffering inside,
because of the insensitivities of the male kind,
and oh, how she cries,
how she cries at home,
and upon her friend’s shoulders,
and in bars and in clubs and wherever she roams,
and how she with alcohol tries to forget,
but it never goes from her mind,
and she continually commits emotional suicide,
and she is mistrusting,
and malcontented and bitter inside,
because of Ill meaning men,
have savaged her heart,
so viciously inside,
and destroyed her life so many times,
oh, the misery of love,
and broken romances and lies,
and she truly has had enough,
so, no, no more,
no, more she screams into the pitch-black night,
and oh, how she cries,
oh, how she cries,
and how she wishes the bastards would die.