I don't believe blue eyes
They're too deep to keep their words
Have oceans overflowing
Inside are fishes and up fly the birds

I don't trust that airy tincture
Varnished with an unknown mystery
Is it the shade of mornings—
Or the signs of absolute melancholy?

I don't like this rare depth
It's too ethical to accept staying alive
Hidden truths frighten me
So does the question to answer: why?