There is a Song that I don’t know,
because my voice has not been boxed into my throat,
she floats free from my bedroom window,
soars across stages,
so unaware of her security,
but there are places,
and there are beautiful voices that know it’s melody all to well.

It is a song of captured chanteuses,
stuck behind storied walls,
their voices are innocent,
but imprisoned, in case they effect “helpless” men,
whimsical, wistful refrains are restricted,
to save weak, impotent arseholes from their irrational fears.
So called strong men,
screaming and scrambling at sweet, soft songs,
from the alleged weaker sex.
There is a song that I don’t know,
it’s unfamiliar but so disarming,
a defiant drum beat under the sunny siren calls,
the song of the captured chanteuses,
who must be set free.

—-

Hear Sarah Sing

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