These are some lyrics for the rock-opera I'm writing about a kid who dies spontaneously several times a gay. A woman, Clothilde, is singing to this kid, expressing her outrage at his lax and lazy attitude towards his own life. Pro-Choice You choose to tell me what you do I choose to be pissed off at you You choose to love an emo band I choose to slap you, open-hand Cuz I'm a pro-choice woman, baby Cuz I'm a pro-choice kind of gal I choose to lock you in a box Taped to a chair and stuffed with rocks When I return to pay the rent I choose to yell you what I meant Cuz I'm a pro-choice woman, baby I'm just a pro-choice kind of gal I choose to let you fall asleep In the deep of your own room Wrapped up in blankets, and Layers and layers of choices I choose to burn you this CD A disc of love to you from me Maybe you'll find your sunny skies I choose to hope you're cured of dies Cuz I'm a pro-choice woman, baby I'm a pro-choice kind gal I am a pro-choice woman, baby I am a pro-choice kind gal
