It's not the rain, the anger of new blood;
Every drop, every expecting view and smell of fresh soil. 
The urges of our soul, thy eyes, every night hunted them; 
Never gain a peaceful sleep until the truth and demands. 
The every rainy night becomes the nightmare
Until the way of wonder. 
The fear, the person with the fearless speech, but in the, 
Flow of earthly needs. 
I was in this place of brilliant stars waiting about it, Why I'm here for now, and for how
For pain or for the quenching deep, 
The anger in blood, O the great sleep. 

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