I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
gently pattering upon my pane
creating rhythm in my sleeping brain
encouraging chaos bordering insane
I blamed it ,Lorraine, on the falling rain.

A vison arose of a windswept plain
saddleless riders in the north of Spain
granting a stranger a sultry dame
standing in the pouring rain…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.

Her eyes expressed complete distain
looking at fools pretending to reign
over lands with dragons left un-slain
me, I could only sit and complain
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.

I heard a ghost howl in pain
bitten by a rabid Dane
fleeting images of regret and shame
flashed across my face again…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.

I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain
the day you told me I was your bane
you wished to see me die alone in pain
with nothing but the falling rain….
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.

Like the blackest tar running through my vein
the three a.m. creature threw me on a plane
sent me sailing down the next of a Crane
U-turn careening into the oncoming lane
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.

When at last our eyes met her dusty mane
created an aura I can’t explain
but enveloped the world in love without shame
giving the people joy without pain
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.

I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
which fed the stranger on the train
looking to rob the Spanish Main
a thought I considered to be to framed…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.

Left in the twilight listening without restrain
these visions creep into my insomniac brain
as drip after drip crash upon my pane
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.