It\'s Friday night, and to the Club,
(the suburb\'s youth attraction hub),
after several at the pub the local laddies came,
As also came a \'butterfly\',
the apple of Her Father\'s eye,
clicking heels as she came by the Venue with no name.
The twanged guitars\' ungentle strum,
relentless beat of bass and drum,
strident voices, raucous hum invite them to the game
he saw Her through the smoke and dust
the gentle curve of hip and bust
awakening his carnal lust; he waved and called Her name
Her eyes demure, she did not seek
to recognise this howling geek
She only danced but once a week and wouldn\'t play his game
he moved to join the singled hunt
and ogled at the cleavaged front
that promised all his kind would want not knowing of the darker shame
he felt his want, and knew he must
pursue, and silence her distrust,
with people known and likes discussed he\'d soon ignite the flame
And after in the cloaking night
she fought to save, but lost her fight
as he subdued with brutal might, he gained his sordid aim.
She lay dishevelled, in the ditch
discarded like a mangy bitch
and he, not marked by scar or itch fled, sated, from the lane.
Forensic truth soon found him out
\"we\'ll punish this unruly lout
for there can be no shade of doubt, he never more will maim\"
A prison\'s not the place to be.
A pretty boy as young as he is beaten; ravaged constantly
Their pleasure measured by his pain
Years on, time served, release\'d he
Infected now with H.I.V.
Met the Father of his prey on a street he could not name
That gentle man had nursed his rage
Imagined oft\' the wrath he\'d wage
If he e\'re found the one that took his \'precious\' little wain
So now he witnessed, \'fore his face
The object of his hate; disgraced
And knew that life had wrought revenge on that which he disdained.
Her Father turned to home at last
to move ahead from torment past
To once more be a gentle man; loving, loved and mild.
He knows that life has levelled out
He\'d no more let his anger shout
He lives remembered pleasures of his \'precious\' little child.