Boobs

A question rolls around in my head  
how are we slaves to a master that's dead  
 
A creation that was made  
To bring beauty to the eyes  
The secret behind the creation  
Should have left when she died  
 
Now every day we wake  
Dreading what we have to put on  
A restriction of sorts  
No, it's not a thong  
 
In the 70s they went up in a blaze of glory  
Bonfires and women lived to tell the stories  
Can we all bring back those days?  
The girlies here want to bask in the rays  
 
If you haven't figured out  
What I'm trying to say  
These bras we wear  
Should go up in a blaze  
 
I bet Master is smiling  
She tied us for life  
From the time we started budding  
To the end of our lives  
 
I bend my head in submission today  
Tying myself in his binds  
The girlies protests  
Not wanting this safety  
Didn't some woman create  
a contraption called pastee?