The Storm

Written by: Michael Copeland

can't you hear your daughter weeping
too afraid to go outside that door
i hope she sees her father sleeping
i step into the summer rain, and i try to make a basket
with the front of my t-shirt
and bring all those raindrops back inside to her

but pretty soon she'll be out drinking
not ashamed of your lies anymore
i'm sitting in my room just thinking
how i wish she were a coin that i could slip into my pocket
and feel her with my finger, and keep her
from the harshness of the vast approaching storm