When it comes, it comes with a blow When it goes its a flood
I.
Walking on dim-lit streets
burnt oil smelling in the air
oily coblestones
Everywhere are people.
Every day is a carnival.
I sit and watch the dripping rain for hours under her porch.
Thinking about love and terror
II.
Rain waters the flowers anyway.
Enter the garden through your heart.
There is a way behind these hills.
A light in your hands
shines along your chest.
your lips and cheeks
which are always red.
III.
We run in the rain
We walk in thunder.
Me, you, and Bobby
We hold hands all the way home.
Such a nice memory.
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