A man must die.
Every evening at eight.
When he sips the coffee with,
Hot chocolate cake.

Whatever is begotten,
      Born and dies.

But A woman is not,
And I'll show you why.

A woman must be,
A picturesque deity,
Giving and taking all the
Evening in her.

The harmony, the health,
The warmest of thoughts.
A woman's a farmer
Every evening at eight.

Watching the steam,
And taking within,
The fetish of hate,
Every evening at eight.

Makes her a woman,
Who isn't born to be great.
But kind and mild,
And As timid as a cow.

A woman never dies,
For she is never loved.

Since she is born to witness
A death.
And, A man is a member of a community,
Of men.

Practising a composition,
To produce hatred.

   Every evening at eight,
With hot chocolate cake.