Dry are the tears
        that are never shed,
Rolling down in silence
        along the golden thread.


They are the warriors
       whose stories are never told,
Born amidst the torments
        with nothing to hold.


Fighting constantly to hold the mask
        and never to reveal,
The battle to defeat the pain
        and conquer Achilles' heel.


The cries of the heart are masked
        by the eyes that run dry,
Smiling through the emptiness,
        letting only a bit of honesty to pass by.