| She sits on the table in a dress made of paper
|
| Diplomas all over the wall
|
| One university, one school of medicine
|
| She’s overwhelmed by it all
|
| The nurse is all sympathy, voice of experience:
|
| Let’s have a look at that eye
|
| It’s going to look bad for a week, maybe more
|
| Go on, darling, it’s all right to cry
|
| How can I leave him, she is crying
|
| What could I do, where would I go?
|
| He didn’t mean it, he will change someday
|
| Oh, God, how he used to love me so
|
| The doctor is busy, his manner professional
|
| She finds she must look at the floor
|
| He looks at her eye, at her ribs and her arm
|
| And it seems every last inch is sore
|
| The doctor is handsome, he smells of cologne
|
| And his figure’s athletically slim
|
| He speaks disapprovingly: What did you do
|
| To deserve such a beating from him?
|
| How can I leave him, she is crying
|
| What could I do, where would I go?
|
| He didn’t mean it, he will change someday
|
| Oh, God, how he used to love me so
|
| The policeman is waiting outside in the corridor
|
| He speaks to her as to a child
|
| He’s friends with her husband, he’s angry with her
|
| And he asks if there’ll be charges filed
|
| She says she’s not sure, she needs time to recover
|
| She feels beaten down in disgrace
|
| The policeman asks isn’t she secretly glad
|
| For a man who’ll keep her in her place |