As a grey dawn slowly chases the night
Away, the woman lies cold in her stillness,
Patiently waiting for the end to smite
Yet fearful, wondering if it will be painless.
Her pitiful existence floats before her,
Cold sweat drips from her feverish brow,
Her blood prettily colours red the water,
She knows she will be happier somehow.
She was always an excess baggage, a thorn
In people's sides, it would have been better
If she had not been there, never been born.
It's now time to erase this mistake, forever.