You
think
you’ve
gotten
away
with it

But
you
and
I both
know

You’ll
wither
away
sad
and
alone

While
I will
continue
to grow

Twenty three years in prison

Is nowhere near enough

For men like you to realise

We are not your ‘bit of fluff’

If I
hadn’t
been so
confused,
then.

I
wouldn’t
feel so
used,
now.