At seventeen oh, you had such big dreams

You left your home to be part of the scene.

You played guitar in an indie rock band, never got far

Now you type in shorthad, for a bloated banker

Bulging in his suit, who pinches your arse, and tells your you're cute.



He kept you late one night in January, asked for a date, said "you'll go far with me"

You turned him down, your answer was in your frown.

He kissed you hard, pinned you to the table,

He raped you there, said you should be grateful.



The next day he phoned to see find out where you were

The phone it rang, oh, but there was no answer

There was no answer.



Two weeks have passed, now you're in a bar in Soho

Not playing guitar, you're a topless dancer

One night in March a man your granfathers age,

crept in the dark and made it backstage

He grabbed your throat, ordered you to undress

You clutched your knife and plunged it into his neck.



12 months have passed since Mr. Willaims raped you

You're at the grave of a nameless child who

Had your eyes, but he had the rapists smile.

He had the rapists smile



The rapist smiles.