Slowly pacing back and forth,
the winter night is cold
Shivering in her worn out dress,
her bodice ripped and old.
Destitution drove her,
to the state she’s in.
It used to be a secret,
now they know her sin.
Her face yields no expression,
for it has turned to stone.
Many people pass her by,
yet she's truly alone.
It's hard to earn a living now,
ten francs is hard to pay.
Fifty sous clenched in her fist,
is all she has today.
Callused from her present life,
she now is unashamed,
For submitting to corruption
she can not be blamed.
One small franc is really not,
worth what she's gone through.
Doing what she doesn't want,
just to earn a sous.
The harshness of the upper class
contributes to her fall.
The people that have made her this,
show no concern at all.
Thought of as a dirty stain
upon the clean landscape,
She is in a living hell
from which she can’t escape.
Allowing to be dominated,
she is just a pawn.
Her actions do not bother her,
her modesty is gone.
For immorality she didn’t ask,
for this she didn’t choose.
In the game of survival,
its apparent she will lose.
Although her heart keeps beating,
she died some time ago.
A prisoner for an unjust cause,
her misery does show.
Her great loss of dignity,
her degration to the street.
Many days will go by,
where she will never eat.
They think that she’s immoral,
unprincipled and bad.
But underneath her reddened cheeks,
all she is, is sad.
Every night reeks havoc,
on every part of her.
But no one pays attention,
to this slow murder.
She has learned to be passive,
to ignore it all.
She lost her pride the first day,
with her nerve and gall.
Who is this forlorn creature?
this poor and pitiful scene.
The woman whom society cast off,
her name is Fantine.