It was the year the weevils came for the harvest.
The moon playing tricks on eyes eagerly awaiting its appearance.
The oily black sky desperately waiting to cry a river
and the year they came for her heart.

Don't cry, it would be alright.
The night is getting thick, the morning seem so far.
Don't cry, it would be okay
when the morning comes and the river of sorrow pour down your face no more.

Let the pain in your heart and the ice in your eyes.
let the crystal clear liquid bleed no more.

You will chase away those haunting demons
Then you will stop accepting handkerchiefs of dishonesty to wipe your tears.
You will write your own stories and sing the songs in your heart.
The crows and locusts will always come but the fields
will still choose to be green again.
Live, love, pray, be happy and do it all again.
The rains are coming...

For He causes the sun to rise upon both the evil and the good.
but just maybe this is all a part of His plan.
May the morning find you laughing...