From the dark alleyways of the winding cities
From the cruel men whizzing by on bikes
A million malicious molesting stares
Systematic yet unspoken strikes.
A secret culture, a bubbling hate
That rarely rears its ugly head
And remains as whirling fury and loss
Until the poor girl is dead.
Yet this shame, this horrible act
Lies eclipsed within the gloom
Of the small hated room, and within the soul
Of a small child brought into doom.
Staggering strains of a satanic song
Snatched out, spreading, silent screams
A scaring spear of skulking shade
Of stealthy psyche-snaring dreams.
Is this what shoul hold our girls in thrall?
Should hold our people in fear?
A violation of all that is sacred
And all that we hold dear?
Our society's shadows, sneaking up
Is this the impression we wish to cast?
Of a hidden culture of torture, abuse
Is this our remains that shall last?
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