We clutch our faces tighter than our purses, We press our voices, softer than feathers, We brazenly break through boredom and backgammon. For our faces present the value of the purses of our male counterparts, Our voices show culture, Our boring breasts are worth only silent. Nobody hears the screams that bellow louder than the factories sirens, Nobody needs to. Nobody wants to. And that is how north has shaped us. On the south side we dream of desperate desire, We make pages of parenthood, Perhaps that would permit A pilgrimage to paradise. But it's all just a facade of fraternal faith.