The weather mine


As long as the rain keeps coming,

a few bees and birds still humming,

the weather is mine.

When snow is falling on my head,

it reminds me that I am not dead,

the weather is mine.

Since the sun and moon keep shining,

while a few keep scaring and dining,

the weather is mine.

Even when there should be boiling heat,

I only stink and sweat in my lonely seat,

still the weather is mine.

And so it rains all day inside my heart,

a deep pain and sorrow, some call it art,

when the weather is mine.

Can my voice break walls when its a hurricane?

Can my voice move mountains and buildings?

The weather is mine.

The weather mine.

Why should I need more?

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