The women in this country are statues
They have been chiselled out of rock
Their hearts are piled high with emptiness
Their faces are stone and have no features
The women in this country have eyes of glass
They turn the other way and do not see a thing
The women in this country have lips of lead
Not knowing how to smile they only move them
When they're agitated
If they so much as glimpse the moon
The women in this country frown
Follies they have, kinships and friendships
But not the slightest trace
Is left on them by these
