The candles that were burning, have melted into dust,
Who was meant to be protected, stays exposed to rust,
She crumbles in a corner, helpless and crying,
The hand that rocks the cradle, in misery she is
lying.
In misery it is dying.
She still walks the streets, ogled by the eyes,
She still boards the bus, amidst those lustful sighs,
She sits uncomfortably, him staring at her hungry,
Her day ends in relief, her soul restless and angry,
She tries to wash it off, in a shower every night,
And when she is devoured, a candle is all we light.
A candle is all we light.
The cycle keeps on going, we outrage and forget,
By walking holding candles, what closure do we get?
We slip back into life, with changes none at all,
She still lives in the danger; do the candles hear her
call?
The water cannons and those bombs of tear gas,
Will something ever change, because nothing ever has?
Respect that she deserves, will she ever find?
The hand that rocks the cradle, has tears in her eyes,
Fighting it she survives.
The candles that we burn will melt back into dirt,
They don’t give her protection; don’t shield her from
the hurt,
But we love tokenism, and that is how we fight,
In the name of revolution, a candle is all we light,
A candle is all we light.
