Listen.
You can almost hear the raindrops
whisper to one another.
Listen.
You can hear the rhythm of your footsteps
Muffled by the puddles on the ground.
You say you love the rain, yet you complain
Every time it reaches out to touch your face.
It is as if each raindrop is a space between
One second and the next,
Seperating the past from the present.,
The present from the future,
And it is a cliche, but they say
That now is called the present because each second
Is a gift.
Wrapped up in paper they call clouds
And stolen the very instant it is unwrapped,
You always wonder
What you will open next.
And in a clap of thunder you realize
It is not the rain you hate, but the future.
Theres always somewhere to go,
Someone to see, some reason
‘I cant go there with my hair like that’
Some reason to say I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry.

Listen.
The rain never apologizes ,
And that's what makes it beautiful.
Somehow it reflects a time when man was primal,
Before he gave himself the right to fear,
And it was simple,
And it was beautiful.

Listen.
The rain whispers *I love you,
And I am not sorry.

Before guns wore make-up,
We used to put pennies in our socks
So we’d always walk on the root of all evil.

Now Wall Street angels frolic through satellite clouds borrowed
from youths educated by universities of smoke and plastic bags.
                  
(The tears of a child are homage to the waning gods)
For in a day not far away,
Over the painted moon of the Morning Son,
The sun will rise wearing the finest war scars money can buy.

And the screams of humanity will be heard from Venus,
Forgetting that the reciprocal of   L-I-V-E   itself  is     E-V-I-L
And perhaps death is the life meant to be lived.

she rocks herself to sleep at night
for who else can ease her sorrow?
brought upon by her own cursed self
she hopes not to see tomorrow

why can’t i just leave as i lay here now
drifting amongst desires and fears?
more pleasurable than reality it surely will be
than fighting through another day of tears

thinking through what’s been done so far
cringing for what’s yet to come
i realize there’s nothing left to do
and thus my heart goes numb

She was beautiful,
But not in the beautiful ways you like to think so
She did not have hair that dripped gold
Her eyes were not the colours of the cold sea
But her smile was crooked and bent
Her lips were chapped and thin
She did not have a gentle laugh
Nor did she speak humble thoughts
But she was beautiful
In the way the shore kisses my feet
In the way the moon hides itself in the curtain of darkness
She was beautiful
In the way wind dances with hair
In the way shy lovers hold hands
She was beautiful in the way of morning air
And black coffee
And the love poems that live in each broken heart
Spilling red oil into blue lungs,
Suffocating happiness right out of its shell
And she was beautiful
Because she refused to taste sadness
Even though it was the only thing she had left to eat.