There are no children on the street.
If there are, they cry in their sleep.
Their tears stain the city's cement.
Their toys echo their lament.
They blame, they blame, they blame the woman.
They curse, they curse, they curse her independence.
What is she but a slave to her duties?
What is she but a slave to the 'families'?
She does not have a right to transcendence.
What is she but a woman?
Small fingers clutch her as she says goodbye.
She leaves, she leaves, she leaves the child.
She kills the parasite in her womb.
Should she then be condemned to be a tomb?
It's her choice, not a crime.
It's her choice, it is her life.
But they still blame, they blame the woman.
They blame her because there are no 'children'.
They blame her for breaking the laws of the land,
but I myself blame the man.