How I wonder, woman:
do you regret the love you've scorned?
For all the ways you've been inhuman
do you howl and wail and mourn?

You left me singing empty songs
devoid of any soul, hollowed to core;
I wonder if you count your wrongs
and fear what waits in store.

But should he raise his voice at you,
stare him right into his eye.
Say: "Anger's not a virtue.
Don't sip on poison, hopin' that I die."

And should he raise his fist at you,
don't stay and hope he'll change.
Because men like that aren't all too few.
They're enamored with their rage.

Know that you deserve the best,
not an ounce of fear or discontent.
Believe that you are blessed,
if you would but give it your consent.