It never stops raining
and it's never a shade that
isn't grey
the wrought-iron
gates are
always icy
and the pavement is always
the same

Tonight the church bell's ringing the hour. It's 7 and you're spewing
poetry.

And tonight's the night I find out
you might leave me
and I won't have a chance
to go

I'm so broken hearted and
only the Church Bell knows.