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