Wet, are my eyes to my faith
   It is lost in the air;
Echoed of the latter days,
  Shrunk from voicing prayers
Without a measure of pleasure,
  Sigh, I'm caught in a snare.

Weights narrow on my eyes,
Wondering what more they carry
And could I fit into a world's people
That doesn't carry my size?

Speaks of how proud you are of me,
   But not so often it shows
Shouting doesn't motive me to move,
You should know it leaves me scars.

Roll your tongue under itself,
   Gentle tone your words
Seize to speak, if it disrupts peace,
   Stopping listening to yourself.

Heal from Mouth scars.