.
.
You wouldn't know it
If it was clinging as your skin

You keep it buried
Under piles of situational sin

Your tongue clamps down
Refusing to let the words come free

Your dubious look somehow fits
That is all telling now to me

Listen to the words you let stumble
From the corners of your mouth

They codify your existence like the hot
Dry winds coming from the south

You're afraid to give up what little
Faith you hide away in fears

Then you are caught looking back
On the mystery of the years