That trail like a veil
Behind her,
She walks on
In the shadows
Of her shame
As they call her names
That pelt her,
Scarlet Harlot.
The look of disgust
On the faces she trusted
Not to judge
But who spit on her
Words so vile that
She tastes bile
In the tears she cries.
Accused of so many lies
She can't recall them all,
Can't recall her own name
Cos for so long
She's only ever been
Slut, bitch, whore,
Whore, bitch, slut.
She was right to flinch
From the tender touch,
Fool to think the thoughtful man
Could understand or care.
But there it is:
stamped property of So-and-so,
Labelled as: "filthy ho".
No one's fault
But her own.
You can't escape your past
She should have know.
