When she'll shed Red,
Let her not think she's dying.
Let her not be found crying.
How is it that just by adding a sperm,
It becomes a matter of celebration and rejoice.
But in its absence we lower our voice?
When she'll shed Red,
Let her not have to sleep outside.
Let her not have to run and hide.
Don't we all owe it
To the women who bleed?
For if not for them how would humanity breed?
When she'll shed Red,
Let her not be told she's impure.
Tell her instead, she'll be a mom for sure.
