Hurt, hurt, as much as you can,
Hurt and flirt, and torture the man,
All of you women, hurt men like mad,
So I don’t feel so alone and sad,
So I won’t feel the horrible pain
Of the dying soldier who dies in vain.
Let me see pain everywhere,
To ease my wretched care.
I won’t feel alone in my crying
If other hearts admit they are dying.
The loveliest melodies sing of wrong
But I won’t be lovely in this song.
This song screams for battle,
For love to kill lovers like cattle.
For blood, and blood in the dirt,
Wars where millions are hurt,
And where the dagger hides in the shirt.
Women were invented by men,
To breed, work, and when
Their flesh is dined upon,
God—who used a virgin to make a son,
As gentle as new leaves,
Cut by bullets, when a battle heaves
Blood upwards, towards the sky—
Causes me to bleed and cry.
