Such purple skies tell so much about mood
Yet thunder neither dwarfs nor dulls a memory
And rainy days don't always clean the walk
For the traveler's footsteps are often heavy
His baggage doesn't fit in the terminal of ports
But such cloudy days are well soiled for thinking
About gardens not planted before the coming storm
Suppose proverbial tales tell a story long and true
And perhaps your own rain drippings do too
What secrets do soggy boxes hold in wet paper
The yellow edges of some other dream or two
Sifting through contents like a befuddled child
Wondering about things a dreamer only understands
People are quick to speak about reality and logic
But their waning imagination seems to sell them short
No amount of logic, reason, or money has cured them
And their heartbeats don't always count for being alive
Just like spring plants set in autumn will not thrive
Coming again to this place so full of blistering rain
I did not expect you, and then only silence ensued
Your voice, must have been lost in yonder clouds or so
For no strength was left inside it to break any chords
Tired I supposed as many of us do along our path or trail
Looking for reality and finding that it left along with yesterday
Its why I come here I suppose if I were asked to say
There's nothing like the wind's wrath to bring comfort to pain
Nor can anyone see if you would weep in the falling rain
Many oceans have surely rose with the ongoing rains of girth
Though rafts fortified on dreams rise above the stormy front
The man seated there with his bottle of hope is scared to sink
Though he needn't worry if losing only counts in the the end
Being somewhere in the middle and not seeing the road is rough
Or comforting, depending on the fellow's level of madnesss
He writes his silly songs wondering about places like Baltimore
Homeless men there covered with papers don't mind the rain tide
For it hasn't stopped falling since the days of Bonnie and Clyde
