I say little when I talk of you
Afraid of seing you cry.
Dare not dreams that would make me
Whore-master ,Circus clown or jugller drunk.
I look not into your eyes lest I see the danger
Lurking az a tiger in the forest hungry for its young;
Eyes that once loved me, eyes that self betrayed;
Ambiguous eyes,better to be your slave
than to have this free'will, knowing not what Mistress i should serve.
I'll be Houdini and in theatres old escape
Tight rope walker I've become this side of the grave!
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