Word Charity

When I told you I loved you,
you ate my words up,
laid at my knees
and begged me for more.

I was no patron then,
but you'd hold out your hand
every time you gave in
and ask me to say it again.

When I took back those words,
your eyes asked, brick hard,
"what kind of man would rob
a girl of 3-syllable sustenance?"

I was no patron then,
I was a business man,
calculating to the very end.
And I don't waste my words on charity.