The Virgin Prostitute
Cry foul, Oh you who sit in the shed,
By the roadside in the day time,
And watch them pass, covered in shame,
All running to have a piece of her
To pound her virgin bosom
Till she feels the pain.

They invite their friends into her inner chambers.
She gives them wine for the dine
And bathes them with soap.
She caresses them all as if they are one,
And forgets that the previous ones used her life.
They paid her not for all she did,
Yet she is a virgin, or so she claims.

Woe to you who peep through your windows
and watch them whip her for her virginity.
You watch her tears turn into blood,
And her sweat bitter to the skin.
Silently she cries,
With her eyes closed she sees her future,
With her ears shut she hears her groaning,
With her mouth zipped she speaks volumes.

Oh shame on the virgin!
For her body has been used
By them who value not beauty nor love,
Who soar with their pride above the sky,
And pretend to have touched her not.
How they insult her complexion,
And laugh at how ignorant she is.
They tease her with silly gifts,
And tie them to their conditions,
That for them she may toil in vain
And use her even more.
Oh shame on her! That Virgin Prostitute.

They have written volumes about her
How her virginity was her pride,
They to the young they have not
Revealed how they used her.
They blame her for her poverty,
And condemn her beauty in disgrace.
They unravel her shame,
She slept with so many of them,
Yet they all call her a virgin,
To all her nakedness is revealed
As they steal her hidden treasures!