A wild fire in her heart Lightening in her eyes Yet there's a gag over her mouth And her arms are bound Her legs in quick sand Her steps uncertain and light
Dressed in black silk And the most expensive perfume Ginika bleeds From her ears, nostrils and the corner of her lips.
Skin like honey and smooth like egg shell Yet marked with traces of the heart's wound. Upturned lips tinged with the colour of pain . Paraded like the finest of masquerades. Head held high but the whole world on her shoulders. Her picture on the magazine doesn't stop the whispers.