When it first began
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in the light of sacred things
|
and you felt oblivious to any sort of pain
|
when it first began to rain
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then there came the steady flow
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slowly like a flood
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sweeping over everything and turning into mud
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Why?
|
|
Is there nothing sacred left, nothing to hold on to?
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Is there no way to make it up, nothing that you can do?
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You believe what you want to believe
|
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Not so long ago
|
it was as perfect as the snow
|
you can never know what things
|
may come to spoil your dreams
|
and to hurt you as they have
|
Do you hear the rain
|
so insistent on the windowpane?
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A reminder of a night when everything was changed
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Why?
|
|
Is there nothing sacred left, nothing to hold on to?
|
Is there no way to make it up, nothing that you can do?
|
You believe what you want to believe
|
|
When the light of morning comes
|
you see the damage done
|
and you know how many things
|
may never be the same
|
there you will remain
|
in the ruin after the rain
|
|
"The Ruin After The Rain"
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Sunday, May 12, 1996
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|
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The Ruin After The Rain
|
| Adrian Belew |
