The question I ask myself
Why they look at you
As if you're half naked
Why they look at you
As if you're a piece of cake baked

The question I ask myself
 Is that flesh, is so attractive
The under skin, under this skin
Have layers and layers
And when it ends, it reaches
To the soul, we have within

The question I ask myself
Why do they find,
Your flesh so fascinating?
When they have the same Layers of skin
With impure soul underneath

 
The question I ask myself
Why they look at you
As if you're a piece of chicken
Which is roasted, steamed or boiled?
And all they want to have
The flesh and throw the bones

The question I ask myself
Why you wear the clothes
Which unveil your flesh
Maybe it’s your fault
Maybe you shouldn’t exist
Maybe the world is sexist
Maybe you’ll survive this way
Or maybe you should’ve died
When you were born that day