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Open your little door |
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Step out into the downpour |
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Listen to the sound your |
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Listen to the sound your soul makes |
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as if it's soulmates |
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with the ground |
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The rain falls down |
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The ground |
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The rain falls down |
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to the floor |
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The summer rain has come again |
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The pavement sizzles like drizzling lemonade |
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Oh, and the sunlight seems unlikely |
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to be on my cheeks for one fine evening |
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There's nobody else around |
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absence has a powerful sound |
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blades of grass are fine enough to make a scalpel proud |
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Alka-seltzer sizzle drizzle pelts the ground |
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I can't help myself but shout aloud |
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to tell the crowd |
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that while they're out, I'm out of bounds |
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I could flee til my knees hurt |
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feel the breeze in my t-shirt |
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but there's so many aesthetically pleasing things here to see first |
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The summer rain has come again |
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The pavement sizzles like drizzling lemonade |
|
Oh, and the sunlight seems unlikely |
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to be on my cheeks for one fine evening |
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Flowers bob, nod and rattle |
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under fat drops of rain big as apples |
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and the street steams like a kettle, singing |
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each bead a little a nettle, stinging |
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my skin in a million different places |
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Precipitation amidst the vegetation |
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the British air is changing |
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and sitting under parked cars there are kitties waiting |
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watching me pace by |
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I stop and then say hi |
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The summer rain has come again |
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The pavement sizzles like drizzling lemonade |
|
Oh, and the sunlight seems unlikely |
|
to be on my cheeks for one fine evening |
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Could never sing, but I sang though; Dionysius |
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air rang with the tang of a mango; delicious |
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living in a fictitious middle English mangrove, that's been kissed |
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with the liquid sunshine that some find in Orlando |
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I hang under the jungle canopy |
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catching an undiluted glimpse of clarity |
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refracting through the prism imprisoning my sanity |
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for all the laws we're living in anarchy |
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causing wars, it's giving me anomy |
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the rows of windows are frames inside a strange gallery |
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of apathy |
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inhabitants happily having tea |
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Warm water colours reality |
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washes away the banality |
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The summer rain has come again |
|
The pavement sizzles like drizzling lemonade |
|
Oh, and the sunlight seems unlikely |
|
to be on my cheeks for one fine evening |
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My hair is getting wetter |
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The air is getting fresher |
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Before the storm I'm sure I could barely bear the pressure out |
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but it's getting better now |
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It was one of those horribly hot days |
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The barometer's ominous clock face |
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was something Hieronymus Bosch paints |
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From Shropshire to Gloucester to Warwickshire |
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forests of conifers congregate like choristers |
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and praise displays of flowers as a florist does |
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Knowledge buds and blooms in the soil |
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Olives crushed producing an oil |
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to lubricate the mind |
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illuminate and shine |
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a human ray of light |
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right through the rain tonight |
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It just might quite save a life |
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The summer rain has come again |
|
The pavement sizzles like drizzling lemonade |
|
Oh, and the sunlight seems unlikely |
|
to be on my cheeks for one fine evening |
