She called me again, she always will

Some girls I know went through it

And the fear of it makes me ill

I was up with her for a while ‘til

She told me she didn’t see it fit.

She called me again, she always will

I told her I loved her and she told me to chill.

She said she’d do it; she wouldn’t regret it one bit

And the fear of it makes me ill.

She didn’t listen, no, she’d had her fill.

She said she was sorry and that she’d remit.

She called me again, she always will.

I begged her not to and she refused until

She decided not to and waited in her bathroom until it was sunlit

And the fear makes me ill.

She had gone through the pains too many young girls fulfilled

She thought it defined her: always a misfit.

She called me again - she always will -

And the fear makes me ill.