The Call

There comes a whisper from the rubble

A spark ignites in fields of stubble

A flicker from the toil and trouble

Fighting spirits rise and bubble

And women scream and women shout

And women let their voices out

Voices that were long suppressed

Their owners downtrodden and oppressed

Caged in bars of iron tradition

They explode like atoms going through fission

Bringing the system crashing down

Toppling with an almighty sound

An ear-splitting monumental fury

From the self-appointed jury 

By Zoe Chanellor