Tucked inside ducts and they wait to erupt,
like ******* volcanoes and not one of you knows
until they spew out their tears.
I don't cry anymore,
my dad used to say,
'cry and you'll *** less'
I guess that's what dads do,
strangle you with words that you can't understand and
you're ******* your pants but you find you don't cry,so
I guess it works both ways.

We tend to grub in the dirt today and blub on some skirt today but it wasn't always that way,
men used to be strong and to cry would be wrong,
we got soft by holding aloft these ideals of what it is to be really a male.
I blame Charles Dickens for making men cry
for destroying the stiff upper lip.
'I spy with my little eye'
which is full of glistening tears,
something that's been happening to the male population for years.
Oh cry me a lake and I'll take a swim,
come in and join me,together we'll both be
wet.