Rain falls so often where I stay to live,
So I walk outside and talk to the sky,
Contriving my words so that I might be lying,
To myself and the dark grey sky beyond,
Then I lay down on the wet grass and pick at the greens,
In worry, in thought, so distraught, that I'm in this disarray,
Distraught, that I taught the thoughts to flock to death and distress,
My hands are cold and wet with raindrops that I like to call teardrops,
I talk to myself and the dark grey sky beyond,
Drops falling into my eyes so that I can see a little clearer the next day,
Then I begin to sing, "La-da-la-da-la-la."
Then I begin to sing, "La-da-la-da-la-la."