Against the high and mighty walls of the niche
Beat the rhythms of rain dropping and falling
Wet and trodden are our people under the shoes and heels of the riche
Dripping and cascading down the Earth, inimical and exacting

There isn’t just water in this rain
The tears of mothers, fathers, our brothers and sisters
We told them they do not belong, they have been pained
Their blood and sweat has been stolen, none have bothered

Fires and mass-looting have become thematic
Chaos has ensued, we are witnesses, and our fingers have failed to lift
The cries for our beloved have become loud and frantic
It’s a busy schedule at the graveyard shift

It’s funny how we have forgotten that our rain is just the same as theirs
We have forgotten that the rain falls on us too, in equal shares