grow up straight as a blade
so, I’m laid down flat on
some man’s bed/killing the dreams
swirling around my head.

Why should I
work nine to five
so, I’m boxed in a job
not for me/a clone
to tin soldiers/not
my own woman.

Why should I
standstill as a pill
in a bottle till somebody
shakes it/I’m awake as the wind
a **** on a weathervane blowing
in every direction.

Why should I
not fly on my own/not tied to a kite
held on a string? I have wings and songs
to sing.