The minds of free reflections
                  swim above the surface,
            believe that while
those stagnated by whispers
                                             fade into oblivion.

I love the sound of clouds rolling in the morning
The sight of the grey of a coming storm
Clashing with the dark of a whithering night

And I could feel the rain coming

A feefall of raindrops
Washing away any haunts left by night
Thr chorus of an autumn's monsoon
Clashing with the whispers of the wind

Slowly will it pass
Slowly will the sun take its place