Lament! Lament your sisters' lot,
And scorn those blokes by whom they are refused,
But no self-respecting man
Will take a woman secondhand--
You're no longer in demand,
And now your vanity lies bruised.

So weep! Now weep, for fate has wrought
This world in which a Siren slinks in shame--
If shame was too be had, you see,
Instead of unctuous pagentry
From every wench who stands sentry
At virtue's side with passions yet to tame.

So scream! Scream about injustice,
And claim the accusations are untrue!
Fall to your knees, and tear at your hair!
Throw up your arms, and cry out in prayer!
But when men wander by, you've breasts to bare,
And to prude conviction, you thus bid adieu.

So beware, my sons, of the Siren ingenue,
For her demure act will not hold out for long!
You never can be sure of what it is you'll catch,
So remember, boys, if you have a tawdry itch to scratch,
Make use of your hand, lest you unwittingly dispatch
Your masculinity when lust goes wrong!

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Valnuary, in the year 572 AF.