Born in a generation of normalised poverty
Where men are being praised for preying on women
Where a woman’s cry means nothing
To the ears of the world.
Is she in alone at the deep end?

A victim in the dark, behind the scenes
Lies a broken heart and a crippled mind.
She was born into a generation where tables
Are filled with fruitful and delicious food for the stomach,
Never had it been filled with that of the soul.
Oh she holds it in. Is she at the edge?

They keep telling her to clean her throne and fix
Her crown, but they have no
Respect for her father’s kraal,
They walked in yesterday,
Day after yesterday and definitely tonight too.
Is she drowning, oh is she in too deep?

She has become a bed of visitor,
A worn out flower with no value
For the world has sucked dry her nectar.
She has become a common hotel room.
Is she in the deep end?

Now where does she go?
The place she called home is now prison
The bright room she used to love when she was ten
Has become a dark prison cell.
A broad voice shouts in the dark,
Breathe, you’re not underwater.