Tonight, I see a fire
burning in the sky.
Pour some water on it,
let it cry.
Complain, just complain;
complain when she cries.
yet complain again when she doesn’t,
and your dear garden dies.
They want her to cry,
not too little or too much.
They want her to cry,
but only just enough.
Quite often,
you long for her tears,
ignoring the pain she’s felt
for a countless amount of years.