At night, where I lie and I listen to the rain,
at night like the many ones before,
and I would shake like the dangling from a mirror,
crumbling down like the paint from dry walls
I know the question though
I cannot find the answer
why I'm watching the weather that falls down from above
Dreary, where I lie I grow restless just the same,
I might shout my intentions they are plain,
for a rest without waking just one night,
and still I listen to the ceaseless falling sky
I heard the question no
I cannot find the answer
why I'm struck by the Lightning like a crack from a whip
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