An imbecile is a man,
If he finds senseless pleasure in the tears of the vulnerable feminine
An imbecile is a man,
If he uses his fortitude to surmount the insipid potency of the feminine
An imbecile is a man,
If he constrains the feminine to taste the sweetness of the bitter lemon
Obfuscating with a wide white smile but with essence of a demon

I am wounded in the heart by the piercing silent noises she makes
Her dejection, her torment, makes my heart bleed for the risks she takes
Her screaming is the sound of music to his ears
And reflection of accomplishment to his peers
I saw a pool of blood flowing down her face
Blended with drops of her lamentable tears

Her innocence annihilated by the forbidden harvest
In the lady garden between her legs
Men should be intellectuals favouring fundamental change
Not shattering thy soul and locking it in a cage