Drip.
The skies are sad today,
And trees have grown old,
Creaking as they wave,
With stories left untold.

Drop.
The sidewalk lays cracked,
On streets left to themselves,
With tiny apartments stacked,
Like boxes on frozen shelves.

Drip. Drop.
Are the clouds crying-
From joy or loss?
Is it light, like angels flying...
Or lamenting over the cost?

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The sun hides his face,
From our empty, lonesome town,
And the dreary, forgotten pace-
Keeps dragging us back down.