They Wonder Why We're Mad

Medusa was a beautiful woman

cursed to have her golden hair

worsen all who stare.

It wasn't even her crime

and now her story is encrusted in a nursery rhyme.

she was captive for eternity

only because of a vindictive deity.

who stole her youth

and hid the truth.

And they wonder why we're so mad

they wonder why we care when they took all we had

a women can cry and not die

a woman can scream but not dream

they blame us for all their sins

yet they take all our wins

till we're in the wrong

and they look big and strong

posing for an invisible artisan.

So yeah I'm fucking mad

I'm acutely enraged

I'm sitting here, fuming in this cage

Why is it always our fault,

did Icarus even fall?

or was it a woman's crime

like every other fucking time?

Hera, queen of the gods,

has gone down in history

as a boiling pot of misery.

Legends will say she's a hot head

like there was never a stranger in her bed.

But everyone forgets he was a lazy falsifier,

till she was sitting in a throne made of scorching pyre.

So yeah I'm fucking mad

I'm acutely enraged

I'm sitting here, fuming in this goddamn cage

Why is it always our fault,

did Icarus even fall?

or was it a woman's crime

like every other fucking time

The women of Salem,

why didn't anyone save em.

Helen didn't dismantle Troy

she didn't even love the boy.

Joan of Arc claimed the same as Jesus

yet no one believed her thesis.

We're never the protagonist

yet we're always the activist.

And they wonder why we're so mad

they wonder why we care that they took all we had

a women can cry and not die

a woman can scream but not dream

they blame us for all their sins

yet they take all our wins

till we're in the wrong

and they look big and strong

posing for some invisible artisan.

So yeah I'm fucking mad

I'm acutely enraged

I'm sitting here, fuming in this goddamn cage.

Why is it always our fault,

did Icarus even fall?

or was it a woman's crime

like every other fucking time?

All great tragedies,

start with a woman treated badly.

Can we tell our story?

Could we get an ounce of the glory?

yet they wonder why we're so mad

they'll wonder till they're blue in the face

and telling us we're a god damned disgrace.

God, I wonder why we're so mad

when we've been written out of history,

and had all victories,

stolen in tormentil trickery.

Taken like we're nothing special to see,

broken like we're nothing worthy of the

glory they all somehow achieve.

God, I wonder why we're so mad.