Frail are the hearts of men who connive Weak, the ones who strive to satisfy Frowned upon those that sacrifice What really lies beneath those eyes? Infatuated, raised above the heights Brought to contemplate, all in guise Unassuming pain to love, suffice not Fight to hide the lovely tears in the camouflage rain So dry but dazed, those eyes On fire, consumed by desire Grown out, afraid to confide Laid down, so forgone, so cold Flies are gathered feeding on your curtsies of avarice Beneath the surface ties Mock the frailty, guns and flowers, I know of irony Mock the camouflage rain