Clouds gather in conspiracy
ash grey ceiling as far as the eye can see
it’s this silence before the rain
when insane seems so sane.
And this moody air makes me humble
all my shouts spout out like a mumble.
Then the wind begins to pick up speed
and the clouds begin to fall down on me.
Spoils a parade
makes farmers shout, ‘hurray!’
till their crops all drop from too much rain.
While children float boats in puddles adults step around
we grow to forget we are all made of rain
we’re eighty percent water
we’re rain’s sons and rain’s daughters
but when it falls down on us
we open up our umbrellas
cause we grow to forget
we are all the rain.