The rain has come He surrenders to his fate It is hiding him From the sounds of his mental state ...And the rain falls ...And the rain pours down It is fair to say That he drifted On the salt of the open sea And the words that bleed in his month Carry him, drag him to the deep Heave your arms Caught adrift Embrace the shade The drama is torn asunder Thus I fall inside my fate Waiting for the fever And I will sing to my crusade Between the barren and fruitful I got lost in the daily grind There is no way that supports my Dark conceptions to unwind I am the art for the people The apple of their crying eyes Missionaire for the seeking Chewing their lives with contempt Like a stormfront that he precedes It is the sound of the dreamer that screams Bashing clocks he had always wondered But never spoke of It is the strength, the weakness ANd the perfect in between Facing everything that he walked upon The eye had hurried by Compromising the smallest Fractions of a particle