That pretty little lip
and lying tongue,
charming little voices
the stars do slip
to hear. That. Voice.
All those eyes
look into yours.
All the running bodies
hit the floors to hear. That. Voice.
So pull up your cloak
and hide those eyes.
Don't let them see
the voice in your throat.
They've got arrows
pointed at you, love.
They want you
for all they've known is crows
and you are a dove.
