It is as if a wave of tranquility passed over me this morning. Still numb. However, the strenuous longing to feel has dissipated. The wounds have be temporarily cauterized. No empty pain lingers in the darkness like a phantom menace. I felt nothing before, But I knew I was in pain. Now the nothingness consumes any lingering obscure thoughts. I am the hollow man; Such a fragile shell I carry on burden bones. But tis a pleasant day indeed. Thunder storms barrage the sky in open warfare and ominous tear drops soak the battlefield. For once I am not the fool weeping alone; The world takes my place, my pain, my suffering, and I revel in the warmth of it's tears as any good sadist does.

Me and the weather can't make up our minds
Can't make a promise, but promise to try
There's no control here, the pressures to high
Me and the weather can't make up our minds

Me and the weather come raining down
Falling in sheets and flooding the town
Someone forgive me cause I don't know how
Me and the weather come raining down

Me and the weather are scorching the earth
Beating the rays on my skin til in hurts
Drying the seas and starving the dirt
Me and the weather are scorching the earth





Me and the weather are coming on spring
Dipping our toes, flexing our wings
Out past the misty there's something that sings
Me and the weather are coming on spring.

Dewy rain drops fall from the eye of the hurricane
They pour into a puddle of loneliness as they huddle together but yet still alone
The Earth rumbles with sadness as it shakes beneath
Grabbing its surface trying to keep everything grounded
Thunder roars from the core and everything falls apart
This time there is no rainbow after the storm

Do you sense it?
The little men
are mixing up a stew again
They are chopping their children
And grinding all the toys
Breaking the women and
Breaking them on
They will peel colours off the swings
And shred them to debris

Do you sense the moons all hiding
Covering up their silver eyes
And the night is angry
It roars and stomps—
A drunken frenzy; it fights
Its own decayed, black being

Oh, Palestine
You and your fidgeting hands
Fingers fight fingers
And skins are ripped
fingers fight fingers still—
There goes the ballad you never sang
There goes the ballad
You sang all around
There go the plastic dolls
Chaste slingshots, fruits never shot down

Oh, Palestine
You and the lightning
Stumbling through the clouds
You, your tumbling birds—There goes the wind
Mourning a violence unmourned
There goes the silence
There goes the noise
There, all the paintings
Eulogies etched in whispers unfathomed
And there go the stones
Cold and blank

All plunging within the gaping mix
As the *** sits quiet
Upon a fire
Birthed from their own white bones
The little men
are cooking up a stew again
Sprinkled with gold, with ashen stars
It boils and burps
A viscous storm
Never to come
As the *** sits quiet all night long

Oh Palestine,
You, your lovers
Lovers and the rest—
When in the morning
The flames are tired, and bones
Bones no more
The stew will still be stirring
With winds raging on
And no one will be left
No one will be left

With winds raging on
No one will be left

Oh Palestine
Where did the little men go so wrong—

Storm— rain drips, water ripples- thundering through
Seize shelter for overhead the skies darkest nature glooms
The wind hurtles, leaves blowing over the ground
till midnight, the storm surges —
Unrelenting, not a pause to be found
Grasp tight onto the bars, the winds blowing is breaking natures ground
The storm is a beast, it sounds it’s booming growls
The horns, they sound too, but deafened by nature’s loud sounds
The storm will pass through, no more creatures to bear a sight, no more shaking, trembling in fright
So on, Carry the nature
sounding it’s menacing cries aloud
till then, wait until it parts it’s wars and the skies goes clear and restless nights be eased
as the storms
do not sound no more

And we sit on the porch steps
our bare feet rest on cold cement  
the space between memories and contentment
starts to occupy your lungs
we watch the distant rain, still too premature
yet you, in fear of the future
run inside.

Bring me the dusty flour of long hot days
mixed in a saucepan with too little rain
I will bake it in my oven of scorched dry earth
and bring you lightning biscuits
to have with your thunder tea

Do you remember the rain?
The sound of gentle drops
Pattering down, through the drain,
Gushing, flowing, until it stops.
Do you remember the storm?
Harrowing sheets in a torrent
Streaming down, blurring forms,
As the water roars to end its descent.
Do you remember the wind, howling?
Shaking and crashing and moaning about,
Like some beast fighting and prowling,
With anger bursting and spewing out.
I remember nothing, and gladly to be true.
If I remembered something, I was safely next to you.