These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.

But words are words; I never yet did hearThat the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.

I understand a fury in your words,
But not the words.

The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
Observe degree, priority and place.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?