I see a woman dressed in denim
With busy, calloused hands,
The emblem of the work she’s done
To meet all your demands.
With frenzied haste she dashes ’round,
From countertop to stove,
She throws together your favorite meals
To try and win your love.
I watch her mincing onions
And tears come to her eyes,
But I doubt it’s the onion’s work;
’Tis you that makes her cry.
’Cause I see chains that bind her ankles,
I hear the clanking steel;
’Tis you, the tyrant, who keeps her here
And every door is sealed.
Why do you define her womanhood
By the place she sets her feet?
Do you find power in the choice
To keep her from the streets?
Does it enhance your masculinity
To watch her serve your table,
While knowing she could change the world
If only she was able?
But if you dared to let her fly,
To chase what she feels is right,
Her smile will flourish in the sky
Her heart reach greater heights,
And she will always come back home,
With the coming of the night;
Because she loves you, she’ll return,
All the sweeter by the flight.
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