here's a barter to the gardener who made Eve then marred her who fathered the carpenter then martyred man's armour I spit at the sky but He spits back harder one roar and a flash and i'm a blurred charred marker and while I know I'm a carper to start a rant over rain, I'm cold and I'm tired and a little bit vain
so to the almighty all awful why when you reign does it pour? naught but rain until dawn is this the law of the poor and lore for those born with a luckier draw? I cry to the alpha to compromise his plan and just for tomorrow, clear the skies for Sam