Wasn’t it nice of the rain
to wait till I got home
before it started to pour?
Drops didn’t strike my head.
Clothes didn’t get wet.
Now I’m warm in my bed.
Listening to it fall instead.
Listening as it keeps falling, falling,
falling on earth’s red floor.

Someday afternoon a chill wind blows,
the sky is grim and cloudy;
the land turns dim
except for the lightening glow.
Thunder knocks on the ceiling,
inside you a knowing feeling.
It’s the ready – set
Before the GO!
Then comes a trickle,
followed by a sprinkle
as heaven begins to weep
shallow sleet and deep torrents.
The plain is covered with tears.
We all run and hide
and watch the rain wash away the past.
Clean the secrets of the land
as it keeps falling, falling,
falling on earth’s red floor.

When it’s been away for a while,
the earth forgets the rain
and cracks appear on its face.
But it always returns,
to massage the ground with its fingers.
A million wet fingers
drumming on the earth’s red floor.
The ages come and eras fade.
Kings reign and empires crumble.
History is forgotten and
mountains are turned to dust.
But the rain never stops falling, falling
Falling on earths red floor.

Through the mist after it falls
comes a child trotting through the fog.
Blue raincoat and black gumboots.
Skipping in the puddles,
Wet and muddy.
Staring past the clear water.
Innocent and free.
Searching for a place to be;
and the rain keeps falling.

The child now older, maybe wiser.
Innocence lost, not free.
the rain makes him long for simpler times,
He looks at the grey clouds and smiles.
Because he knows that no matter what
From early January
past chilly July
till festive December.
The rain just keeps falling,falling
Falling on earth’s red floor

But he always thinks it’s nice
when the rain waits till he gets home
before it starts to pour.



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