We all have got the urge to power, to kill
Better go out now and make your will
Jesus was not meek nor was he mild
God created tigers and the wild
Why should people fear to say they’re wrong?
Errors can arise or come in gangs
I’d like to go to Bournemouth but I can’t
I see the mad profusion so I’ll skype
I learned to play the cello I loved so
But other plans were made and I let go
The strings were made of gut and they were thick
I played with a long bow, or I could pluck
I did not wish to earn by using words
I realised my feelings were absurd
I could have written books and gone abroad
I could have worked at Bletchely breaking codes
I did not realise I was a girl
Despite the bearing of some golden curls
I liked boys’ games but I am not trans
I like making cakes and washing tins
I liked men to give warmth to my bed
Although my only true love is now dead
Am I banned from meeting any more?
They fear my mind and run out of the door.