So gentle, so delicate, a lucid dye
Fragile liquid escapes from her eyes.
They hold every possible emotion
They hold no fate, not even a notion.
Don't touch it for it will break
Don't judge it for it is not fake.
Crystal blue, untainted, so pure
Looking at it provides a cure.
The sight of it makes rose petals cry
The taste of it makes for an envious lie.
The smell of it makes the sun say good-bye
The sound of it makes the wind die.
The melancholy melody screams a song
The love it once contained is now all gone.
It can't cry out for help, it can't scream
It can't do anything, nor can it have dreams.
Cascading down a Goddess's cheek
It makes her feel sad, makes her feel weak.
Bitter salt is digested into its hollow core
It calls out to others, shrieking more.
The sight of it makes rose petals cry
The taste of it makes for an envious lie.
The smell of it makes the sun say good-bye
The sound of it makes the wind die.
As others like it follow in raindrop form
They break down on her skin, so warm.
Tedious is this night, they show her pain
Reflections are seen as vague black stains.
Awake this night becomes with tears calling
Running down to her lips, they keep falling.
The taste of frustration, they leave wet trails
Droplets try to cease from hitting the ground, but fail.
The sight of it makes rose petals cry
The taste of it makes for an envious lie.
The smell of it makes the sun say good-bye
The sound of it makes the wind die.
Like a killer than makes no sound
Taking its victim, so lifelessly bound.
The soar wet trails drop to her feet
Can't stop this, she thought she was beat.
Tears of a woman are so fine, so elusive
Tears that never stop, that are so abusive.
Tears of a woman are a gift, no fear, no pain
They leave behind nothing, not even a stain.
The sight of it makes rose petals cry
The taste of it makes for an envious lie.
The smell of it makes the sun say good-bye
The sound of it makes the wind die.
