rain has come…
nothing is pure…

not streets…
nor churches…
paths we once walked-down…
practiced art of skipping stones…

rain has a beat…
rhythm
yet no-one dances…
the jitterbug has died…

rain has come…
nothing is pure…

staying inside…
fear of getting wet…
cold…
yet…this house will not protect you…

we’ll always be scared…
no chances taken…
nice and tidy and dry…
from what…what…

rain has come…
nothing is pure…