However wiser and a year older
as austere April arrived in a smoulder
to find us sewing our lives together
with the thread of the daily humdrum
what our wishful thinking will again
have it all over undone
Before the monsoon clouds come rolling in
and cast their shadows like a zepplin
before the rain, the gentle rain
becomes the ominous downpour
the may queen, the indian summer
surged in on an encore
and the rain came tumbling down
drowning in its cold embrace
every deluded soul on the streets,
every weary brick in the town
and so it goes, as legends say
to the scorn of sky from above
In a gentle cry, the earth replies
‘Let me love’
‘Let me love’
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