He told me my eyes were innocent
Pure, sparkling with a simple undisturbed joy.
He decided to steal it,
And I almost let him, even though my eyes were actually pretty gloomy
A woman written by a man is never less than half untrue.
I was shook again when a woman
Not my flesh or blood but somehow a sleek tug at my heart
She sugared my naivety
Called it a willingness to believe in the best in all.
My closest of my closest,
Quite spiritually my flesh my blood my tears my all
They know I am less naive and lesser a woman
Than such a generous one to
Believe in the best.
You caught it right, I do not believe at all.
You are right,
And we know what's next.