Seven women came looking for news

Stood at the door with their empty bags

The news they had was wrinkled and old

They wanted new cuts, slices of life

No! No! Don’t make news just for us

Don’t go to any trouble, don’t fuss

Just give us what is in your hands

What you feel with your sore fingers

Parcel it out evenly, be fair to us

Fill our bags so we aren’t empty