‘I dance to the beat of the pulse of life.
An urge, I surge and romp and jump and climb.
Not pretty and coy or embryo wife,
I'm a child that's wild and craving playtime.
I'll skip along as free as my brother;
no fettered skivvy-the-maid who will toy
with your boring chores, some trainee mother.
That woman-role is to let man stay boy.
Don't make us demure before we mature.
Don't shackle your daughter if not your son.
Rules that enchain us will never endure.
It's soul, not body, that forms the person.
Not shape, but humanity, makes us tick.
Spirit's a flame in the mind – not the dick.’