Our eyes, given the first to see
The first to know what is
And what will be,
Close themselves
At the sight of a ray so blindinly bright
At a hint of a crash
At a drop of the rain
And at the first beam of the sun

Our hearts, given the first to sense
The first to feel what is
And what will be,
Do not close themselves
At the sight of a boy destructively lovely
At the hint of a future so crashed
At a drop of blood that bred from pain
And at its first beat, that means more than just a petty inclination.