He thinks that he is falling
He tells me on a rusty bench
As we sit dripping drenched
In autumn rain

He says he thinks he's fallen
Im staring at a dampened nail
Contorted by the hail
And chicken stained

suspended in the shower
I watch his sentence cower
In the shadows of my mind
My ears are blind

He tells me that he's fallen
My fingertips are turning blue
I see him leave through
The drizzled pane

He almost says he's falling
I'm gazing at an ailing fly
And i watch it slowly die
With no suprise

He does not says he's fallen
I'm rigid as a frozen queen
His eager hands between
My weary thighs

I taste his wet desire
My mouth is stale and drier
As the housefly toils until
It's winter still

There's no more talk of falling
Those dusky words are now taboo
There's no more iv'e fallen too
left in my eyes