The body they borrow

Pre-Chorus
They crown us saints or sinners,
depending on who we serve.
Autonomy’s a luxury
they swear we don’t deserve.

Chorus
My body’s holy when I’m bleeding,
but disposable when I plead.
They call it love when I am needed,
call it selfish when I lead.
They fight the choices that free me,
but ignore the voices that grieve.
It’s a shrine when they want something,
a machine when I can’t breathe.
This is the body they borrow —
never the body they believe.

Verse 2
They call surrogates exploited,
but turn away from birth-room cries.
They care about the “future child”
more than the woman who almost dies.
They moralize our motherhood,
But won’t clean the blood off the floor.
They say consent’s important —
unless you’re pushing at the door.

Pre-Chorus
They guard the rules, not women,
they value myths, not pain.
They’ll regulate your choices,
but won’t regulate the shame.

Bridge
If autonomy is dangerous,
why do they wield it for themselves?
If they care so much about our souls,
why do they keep theirs on the shelves?
They fear the women who choose,
not the violence we survive.
They want us gentle, grateful —
just enough to stay alive.

Final Chorus
My body’s holy when I’m bleeding,
but invisible when I speak.
They call me fragile when it suits them,
call me stubborn when I’m weak.
They guard the power, not the person,
they guard tradition, not the screams.
It’s a sanctuary when they need me,
a silhouette when I need peace.
This is the body they borrow —
but it finally belongs to me.

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Verse 1 They say my body is sacred, holy ground, untouchable skin. But only when it benefits them — only when it fits their script. They preach about protection, guarding women from the world, but when we scream in labor rooms, you’ll hear a whisper, not a word. Pre-Chorus They crown us saints or sinners, depending on who we serve. Autonomy’s a luxury they swear we don’t deserve. Chorus My body’s holy when I’m bleeding, but disposable when I plead. They call it love when I am needed, call it selfish when I lead. They fight the choices that free me, but ignore the voices that grieve. It’s a shrine when they want something, a machine when I can’t breathe. This is the body they borrow — never the body they believe. Verse 2 They call surrogates exploited, but turn away from birth-room cries. They care about the “future child” more than the woman who almost dies. They moralize our motherhood, But won’t clean the blood off the floor. They say consent’s important — unless you’re pushing at the door. Pre-Chorus They guard the rules, not women, they value myths, not pain. They’ll regulate your choices, but won’t regulate the shame. Chorus My body’s holy when I’m bleeding, but disposable when I plead. They call it love when I am needed, call it selfish when I lead. They fight the choices that free me, but ignore the voices that grieve. It’s a shrine when they want something, a machine when I can’t breathe. This is the body they borrow — never the body they believe. Bridge If autonomy is dangerous, why do they wield it for themselves? If they care so much about our souls, why do they keep theirs on the shelves? They fear the women who choose, not the violence we survive. They want us gentle, grateful — just enough to stay alive. Final Chorus My body’s holy when I’m bleeding, but invisible when I speak. They call me fragile when it suits them, call me stubborn when I’m weak. They guard the power, not the person, they guard tradition, not the screams. It’s a sanctuary when they need me, a silhouette when I need peace. This is the body they borrow — but it finally belongs to me.

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