Back to this ping-pong of argue again
Arrested through the silence of sound
Before I can get a handle on the underskirts of your words
You point your finger, and it lingers too close.
Stop this nonsense, this upheaval of my trust,
Tread lightly as I stack my thoughts on a table
Each word trembles further than the one before
Preparing for more, for the wind of you to gust
Sealing my fate and shutting the door.