I watched the making of words
and built a hole in which to fall
in case my soul is taken,
if only broken, but with a tender
heart. Don't you see the water
flowing down my eyes?

And if only you could see my eyes
because they're burning with your words
brighter than a July morning. Not even water
could put it out. Because even if I'm falling
your hands are so tender,
even though they're taking.

I watched you take
away my eyes
the ones you loved, tenderly,
and whispered words
to make me fall.
You became my life, my water.

But the plants you planted weren't watered
enough for them to grow and take
form. When I realized I had fallen
it was too late. I already closed my eyes,
I was already blind to everything but your words.
You made me tender.

You looked at me in my tender
mind, the moments I played with water.
You hid your knives with words
and slashed the liberty, taken.
I didn't love your eyes,
but I kept falling.

Even when the leaves became crisp in fall
and the soil under my feet was tender
I still remembered your eyes
and I couldn't wash you away with water.
I promised myself to never be taken
again by spoken words.

It became like falling and being buried under water
remembering your tender lies taking
until your very eyes burned these words.