The rain dripping from the tree
as I stand smoking in the shed,
the rude wind searching for me.
As I shelter in the doorway I can see
drops dance in vain towards my head,
the rain dripping from the tree.
Slamming with the door against my knee,
he then torments the garden chair instead;
the rude wind searching for me.
The streetlight reflecting in wet leaves
now makes to burn a liquid red
the rain dripping from the tree.
Disturbing my thoughts he calls to me,
I hide from him ignoring what he said,
the rude wind searching for me.
Tonight I’ll be absorbed by the scene,
it will not leave me when I lie in bed:
the rain dripping from the tree,
the rude wind searching for me.
