The way I speak In the car in the morning, or under trees Is swathed in darkness My words build walls and facades And cunning passages, contrived corridors Deceit, whispered ambitions I'm dispensing my secrets But dispensing too soon, or too late Into weak hands Or disbelief or indifference Or until their refusal to look me in the eyes propagates a fear That no amount of courage on my part could ever dissipate I'm covered in locks Inside and out But no one has the keys And I am not beautiful enough For anyone to bother trying