The war that I thought would end rages on
My people stabbing my people
Who then are my people, my people?
One cries at one's kind only in grim times
I am not an angel from above
Just a faggot, a tranny and a dyke
Among a bunch of other things that you might despise
My home is not my home
I want to be just like the other dykes
Ferocious, loving and kind
Loving and living among my ilk
But is my kind my kind?
I shift through this quicksand
Underneath a stormy sky
Wishing for love, like everyone else
Wishing for a chance at life
What do I do now, my people?
Do I leave this home as well?
Do I make my peace with oblivion?
Do I make love with rage instead?
I will lay myself to sleep tonight
The dreams may not be kind
I will brave myself in this raging storm
And cry my tears goodbye
I, a dyke who is not to be
A woman who to you is not
A monster of the highest proportions
A heathen to one's own knid