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Denver sang Annie's song and the wind howled and swept cold.
I paced across my flooded hall, gathering every drop
The fiery rain sold. Specks of cinder fell
On my face and burnt the skin at every place. I paid the price
To buy my drops to swallow pains centuries old.
Pitter patter, pitter patter, pitter patter it went
As I yearned to be those leaves on the banyan,
Moist and cleansed of any gathered dust.
Grabbing my guitar I sat by the window to
Play some tune close to my heart. But the songs
Played themselves. They were close- too close!
My soaked fingers burnt on the fret and I knew not what
I played. All I felt that it burned and scorched while
The wind chilled and soothed others hurt and blaze.
The tree tops swayed to my pain and the clouds started to bleed,
While my fingers went numb playing on the strings. The wind
Whispered, "Burn such tears that no one needs."
A lightening quivered through the echoing space and the light
Blinded my blurry eyes. Like an artist's sketch it rose and fell;
Like the hope that rises and quickly dies. Through the balmy
Dark walls I saw Those eyes, piercing through the lull. Like the
Iceberg that slammed and pierced with ease
Through the great Titanic's hull. Couldn't stop my legs that
Walked me outside the door. Stood there I clad in rags
As the rain pelted; the wind sang ballads for a soaked crow.
It looked at me with a sigh and a frown; maybe I was its
Image of a clown. Roaring and dancing in an ecstasy of thefts,
With streamers and balloons to celebrate this death. Looking down
I saw a puddle, as my parched throat belched with pain.
I cried and Cursed and stretched my arms; screaming...
But it rained.

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