facing fate,
lacking grace.
throw the woes, to the sewer grate.
the rain weeps, it seeps,
all misses my face.
a cold steel on my cheek,
sets my sate.

But enough rain comes,
past sewer's sum,
the wave shall come
and come and come.

Sweep me  
with a mighty typhoon,
up into
Neptune's Lampoon,
until my fingers
get a set of nice prune