When there's rain on the brain. & you check the weather vane. The one that's not a bird, it's a Great Dane. You wait for it to explain. Why it's so dry it's profane. You wish to give free reign. To some magic airplane. Seed the clouds into a hurricane. All the water they contain. No more would remain. Unleashed upon this parched plain. You know how people maintain. It's always wet here's their refrain. A cliché so inane. Yet passed off as witty & urbane. But the skies do abstain. What do they have to gain. Selfish in their domain. It give me a migraine. It seems inhumane. To cause so much pain. Until the heavens drain. I'll sip some warm champagne. Hope there's something to gain. Just watching videos of rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment