The best slave does not need to be beaten She beats herself Not with a leather whip or with stick or twig Not with a blackjack or a billyclub But with the fine whip Of her own tongue and the subtle beating Of her mind against her mind For who can hate her half so well As she hates herself? And who can match the finesse Of her self-abuse? Years of training are required for this Twenty years of subtle self-indulgence Self-denial 'til the subject Thinks herself a queen and yet a beggar Both at the same time She must doubt herself in everything but love She must choose passionately and badly She must feel lost as a dog without her master She must refer all moral questions to her mirror She must fall in love with a cossack or a poet She must never go out of the house Unless veiled in paint She must wear tight shoes So she always remembers her bondage She must never forget She is rooted in the ground Though she is quick to learn And admittedly clever Her natural doubt of herself Should make her so weak That she dabbles brilliantly in half a dozen talents And thus embellishes but does not change our life If she's an artist and comes close to genius The very fact of her gift should cause her such pain That she will take her own life rather than best us And after she dies We will cry and make her a saint
Writer(s): Vanessa Daou, Erica Jong Lyrics powered by