Lyrics

Hello, Donald.
Hello to your disciples in tailored suits and red hats,
To the Mouthpiece Marionettes, Smiling Apostates of Integrity, Maggots, and to
the women who traded their sisters for applause from men who’d never castrate themselves for them.

You’ve been chosen—
not by God…
but by the weight of your own consequence.

You have spent years
reducing women to legislation.
Slicing away at autonomy with a surgeon’s precision
and a child’s understanding of anatomy.

You masqueraded as defenders of life—
but what you defended
was entitlement.
Your policies weren’t about protection.
They were about control, sadistic power,
The kind that doesn’t need to touch to violate.

You turned the womb into a weapon—
and called it sacred.
You turned choice into sin—
but never bore the punishment.

Until now.

⸻

Before you, there is a replica.
A synthetic womb.
But this one isn’t political.
It’s mechanical.
Intelligent.
Unforgiving.

Inside, your task:
Reassemble the shattered fragments of every right you dismantled.
Piece by piece—each engraved with the names of the women whose futures you rewrote.
But there is no timer.
Only the sound of your own discomfort.
And the growing reverberation of every scream you silenced.

You cannot die here.
But you will not leave unchanged.

Each incorrect placement replays a confession.
Each failure triggers a story—
Not of monsters,
but of men who called themselves saviors while damning us all.

⸻

You said,
“Women should be punished.”
So now,
you get to feel what punishment tastes like—
the bitterness of being powerless,
of being prodded, surveilled, defined by someone who doesn’t know your name.

But don’t worry, Donald.
This isn’t vengeance.
This is education.
Your curriculum?
Every inch of pain you once dismissed.
Every law you signed with a smile
while someone bled alone in a state that told her she had no right to leave.

⸻


You see…
You never feared chaos.
You feared women who remembered.
Women that remembered everything.

And I remember all of them.
The girl in Texas.
The soldier discharged for being “too much woman.”
The mother in Mississippi who buried her dream in a courtroom transcript.
The daughter who asked why freedom didn’t apply to her body.

You made a world of silence wrapped rooms

So I built you one.
Not of bars—
Of truth.

You spent years designing a world where others couldn’t breathe—
tightly wound with shame and submission.
So I didn’t trap you.
I simply removed the noise.
No bars. No locks. Just you,
surrounded by the weight of your own design.

Every excuse rots in your throat before it leaves.
I didn’t imprison you—
I just stripped away the applause

And that, I knew,
would be the cruelest sentence of all.

There is no blood here.
Just reckoning.
And reflection.

⸻

You wanted control.
You wanted silence.
But you forgot the most dangerous thing a woman can be…

awake.

Live or linger.
You choose.
But know this:
The door only opens…
when you no longer believe you deserve to lock it from the