Listen.
You can almost hear the raindrops
whisper to one another.
Listen.
You can hear the rhythm of your footsteps
Muffled by the puddles on the ground.
You say you love the rain, yet you complain
Every time it reaches out to touch your face.
It is as if each raindrop is a space between
One second and the next,
Seperating the past from the present.,
The present from the future,
And it is a cliche, but they say
That now is called the present because each second
Is a gift.
Wrapped up in paper they call clouds
And stolen the very instant it is unwrapped,
You always wonder
What you will open next.
And in a clap of thunder you realize
It is not the rain you hate, but the future.
Theres always somewhere to go,
Someone to see, some reason
‘I cant go there with my hair like that’
Some reason to say I'm sorry,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry.

Listen.
The rain never apologizes ,
And that's what makes it beautiful.
Somehow it reflects a time when man was primal,
Before he gave himself the right to fear,
And it was simple,
And it was beautiful.

Listen.
The rain whispers *I love you,
And I am not sorry.