Let it rain to the end of the world,
let it cry until the clouds get dry.
Sometimes we have to let it all go,
sometimes it is the only way out.

Hurricanes and tornadoes around,
thunderballs take the summer by storm.
Let it hit, let it rule - let it die,
that's how our hooray will be born.

There's no place to escape from this hell,
there's no chance to survive - there's no way -
the rain's falling on us, night and day,
or it is something more than the rain?

Heavens they have been crying all month,
maybe over a life someone's lost,
maybe someone has died well too young,
maybe it was something even worse...

Heavens they have been crying it out
all its tears, then its eyes, then its heart.
Sometimes speechless we are when life clouts,
our planet is a house of cards.

On the chair your wet coat, your wet coat,
my wet hat on the table, my hat.
Our old boat is drifting ashore
with the sail by the wind torn away.

But this land meant to be our land
and this weather is us - our part.
Let's unite and let's fight and let's mend
all those sails which have been tore apart.

Let it rain to the end of the world,
let it cry till the tears get dry.
Sometimes we have to let it all go,
sometimes it is the only way out.

Let it do it all over again,
let it hit, let it rule, let it die!
We are scared, we are tattered and torn!
We'll be safe - it's a matter of time.

I will come back to the place someone else
once used to call home.

My eyes will kiss again the flame-rotten moths -
it will be a pleasure
to see them escaping their unknown fate,
at last.

I will pray to the sun again,
when my time comes. There will be no one pushing us
to the oblivion of tomorrow.

I’m Triaxial,              
In geometry,          
This X, Y, and Z…              
Caged by coordinates–          
So planar, unfree          

And time’s forward flow,          
Just won’t let me go,                
It’s sometimes too fast…  
Then, relatively too slow  

There’s a down direction,              
That pulls with oppression,    
Gravity’s fixed force–      
A constant compression

When force is innate,
I’m stuck at it’s rate,
Sunken and buried,
By pressurized weight

And, in this void,
Nothing’s destroyed,
Change is the constant,
From which all is deployed

While my perception,
Is a small projection,
Of fundamentals,
Below our detection

I myself am just an extension
Of laws beyond comprehension…
I’m suffocating, blind
Stuck here, in this **** Third Dimension

What is it like to be a prophet?
To bleed visions the world calls madness,
to carry the storm in your lungs
and still be asked to speak sweetly.

I ran.
Through temples, through time, through the mouths of sleeping gods.
I ran, hoping to outrun the fire,
only to find my shadow already waiting-
etched into every horizon by hands not my own.

The gods marked me with knowing,
then stripped me of the right to be believed.
They call it a gift.
But it is a wound that sings.

Let the sky tremble at my silence now.
Let the earth remember what it means
to be cursed with truth.