I said nothing for a year.
I sat at every table, I ate every meal,
I answered to my name,
and I never said a word.

My bones went old inside my skin.
I was roaring, and no sound ever came out.
The summer burned the water out of me
and I called it peace.

When I kept silence,
when I kept silence —
it was never peace,
it was drought,

it was Your hand on me.

Every night You laid it on,
heavy as a hand across my chest.
I was not getting away with it —
I was just not saying it.

When I kept silence,
when I kept silence —
it was never peace,
it was drought,

it was Your hand on me.

I said... I will confess.