The burden of proof is on the accuser,
That is how the system works -
The accused is innocent until proven guilty
Yes, but the system has its quirks.

He drugged her and dragged her to a room
Shut and locked the door
Undid her togetherness
A fistful of hair
A brief, brutal struggle
Left  blood drops on the floor
Bruises, internal tearing
Cruel laughter, violently daring
Himself to take it all
Leaving her unconscious
When he wanted no more

Why wake up?
Death seemed preferable to remembering
Or even to understanding
What her life would be now -
She shut that thinking down -
Hurried downtown
Trying to believe
The authorities would listen
To her story and
Help me not to die from this -
Please, help me to go on and live.

She had spoken but three words: *I was *****
When the questions began to fly -
Not about the crime itself,
But rather about her style:
When will you learn not to drink so much?
Are you sure you didn't lead him on?
What were you wearing last night, anyway?
And don't you usually give it up for a song?
I heard that about you -
You're kind of slutty, isn't that true?
How do we know the criminal here
Isn't you?

But he ***** me - it did happen.
Do you think I'd invent this - because I regret my "fun"?

Well, you should, little missy -
You should regret it indeed.
Ultimately it's your own fault
That he couldn't control his need.
It's your burden now,
Our work here is done.
Next time you get drunk,
Just be more careful, ok ***?

She jumped off a bridge on her way home
From the station
The officers who took her statement
Had coffee and doughnuts
And went back out to hit the pavement.
The ****** is innocent until proven guilty,
And so he went free.
This is how the system works
You're naïve if you don't believe me.