Fertility Supermarket” – Vera Noir (English Version) [Verse 1 – Welcome] Welcome inside – come right in, take a seat, we sell hope in small doses, all nice and neat. Dreams on prescription, with no guarantee, and a side of despair – but hey, that’s for free. Here’s a form to sign, there’s a needle for you, don’t ask too many questions – we know what to do. We’ll weigh your hormones, your age, and your past, then politely suggest you’re too late, too fast. [Pre-Chorus] You’re not a person – you’re a procedure to run, a barcode, a file, a statistic – not someone. “Trust us,” they say, with a smile that’s rehearsed, and a price tag they pin to the place where it hurts. [Chorus – Sarcastic, commercial tone] Welcome to the Fertility Supermarket, where your body’s a product and we’re here to market. Cycle two is half off, results not assured, but the pain’s guaranteed – and cannot be cured. No names, no faces, no stories to keep, just numbers and outcomes – and profits to reap. ⸻ [Verse 2 – The Inventory] We’ve got deluxe eggs and premium shots, discounted hope in convenient lots. A jab to the belly, a bill in the post, you thought this was love – we call it “diagnosed.” A scan here, an ultrasound stare, but nobody asks how you’re doing in there. No space for “I’m scared,” no room for “I’m done,” you’re a project, a mission – deliver or run. [Pre-Chorus – Biting tone] And if you’re not pregnant, well – that’s on you. Too old, too young, too lazy, too blue. We just provide options, we don’t take the blame, when your body’s the one that won’t play the game. [Chorus – Ironically upbeat] Welcome to the Fertility Supermarket, where you’re measured, controlled, and clinically charted. Where patience and silence are part of the fee, and failure is labeled: “Defective. Unfit.” – see? No names, no faces, no stories to keep, just numbers and outcomes – and profits to reap. ⸻ [Bridge – Spoken Word, cold & bitter] We call it hope, but it smells like greed. We call it help, but it’s business indeed. We call it a miracle, but that’s just a disguise – it feels like a factory dressed up as a prize. ⸻ [Final Chorus – Manifesto tone] Welcome to the Fertility Supermarket, where people are products and pain’s on the market. But I am no barcode, no label, no price – I’m more than a womb that succeeds or complies. And if you still ask what I’ll give to this machine: Not my heart. Not my worth. Not my being.
