The rain beats against the window without mercy,
as if it knows the weight of longing and memory.
The streets hide beneath a colourless sky,
and I wear my sorrow like an old veil tonight.
The wind carries promises broken and worn,
through deserted alleys where lonely hearts mourn.
Each drop that falls seems to quietly say
that some things in life will never return one day.
I light a cigarette and watch the smoke rise,
while loneliness slowly embraces my tired eyes.
The clock gathers rust in the corner of the room,
and the rain outside is the only voice in the gloom.
Perhaps tomorrow the sun will choose to appear,
but some days I find it impossible to believe it is near.
For when the rain finally leaves the streets alone,
sometimes, inside us, it keeps falling on.
-- enitnatsnoC oãoJ