Letra de 'Minister Of Culture' de Tilt

A pretty bride of India is burned with kerosene her husband keeps her
dowry and his freedom is achieved, a burnese girl in Bangkok is of value
for her skin, solid for her complexiion, never saw her home again. The
minister of culture, he argues so well, his teeth are flashing as he
details, a legacy of murder, a heritage of rape, a time honored
tradition to maim and mutilate. Cut away her labia with dirty broken
glass, she died of obstruction prainfully infected mass, a dress code
violation is an outrage in Iran, splashed her face with acid only them
the fun began. She wasn't good enough, a female child left face down
packed in the snow, umbilical cord around her tiny feet, she suffers and
dies alone. A woman in a western home is under house arrest, a drunkard
is her jailer he's entitled to molest, her daughter is passed over when
she tries to raise her hand, the likeliness of her success is not an
even chance. The minister of culture, he's wringing his hands, he keeps
on laughing as he demands- "No human right applies her, our women will
agree, our property has spoken no cause to intervine."