Aren’t lovers like the rain?
They come pouring from the skies,
They laugh for no reason
and fill the nights with screams.
They soak the world with fluids
and make everything
than they should be.
They make a lot of us sick,
an unhealthy bunch overflowing with madness.
Aren’t lovers like the rain? Think about it.
Oh they don’t care about the earth;
clouds drop them like freed angels
and they fall,
fall without ever thinking,
ever stopping one bit
until they crash
and turn into mud. Filthy puddles in the torn ground.
And aren’t lovers like the rain?
They hurtle in one direction
then go down the drain.
They’re raging rivers and bursting creeks,
claps of thunder and roaring winds;
from a hole in your roof–
the annoying sound while you try to sleep.
You know, I do remember it’s like the rain,
the giver of life
and the most numbing of pains
like ice in your head as your chest burns
and the squish in your shoes
when you brave the stupid.
God it’s stupid.
So stupid it flooded my head and swamped my work!
‘Twas everywhere I looked, shit, even in my bed!
And all the basins were filled–no teacup to spare!
Nothing was dry for everything was goddamn wet.
And I bet
that I haven’t learned a thing from the rains.
Though I say I love the sun
it’s not what my skin seeks.
For as clean and dry as I aspire to be,
clearly, the storms know the real me;
for the heavens set the rule,
the lightning is the judge,
the droplets are the hearts,
and rains are lovers,
water is love.
I’m nothing but