Young widows with tales from the crypt

Crucified with rusted nails

To the pole shaped as a cross

Desperate need for attention

Entitled to nothing

Sometimes the herd needs thinning

Complain that the rose bushes have thorns

When you should be pleased they even bloom

Desperate strippers' need for attention

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

If you tickle us, do we not laugh?

If you poison us, do we not die?

And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?