The Storm

It was as if the bay had woken up
and walked across the city.
I suppose the lightning was quite striking.
But I was too damn cold
to think of it as pretty.
And now it seems like
the twelve won't come at all.
As the rain hits, horizontally,
the glass bus-shelter wall.
Now my calves are slowly soaking
as I cower from the rain.
And the bullshit this day's thrown me,
well it sticks to me again.
So with traffic at a standstill
and with hope my driving force,
watch me walk into the water,
hear me shouting myself hoarse.
And as the rain came down I danced
over the oily river where the road had been.
As though I'd probably missed my chance
I had to tell you that we hadn't covered everything.
The foxes in the fig-trees
they see the city upside-down
and they wrap their wings and settle in
as the weather goes to town.
Now if I could be a catchment,
for whatever comes to pass,
I'd be pouring possibilities
in this half-empty glass.
And as the rain came down I danced
over the oily river where the road had been.
And though I'd probably missed my chance
I had to tell you that we hadn't covered everything.
And when the storm had passed I stood
in the clear dry shadow where your car had been.
And though the forecast wasn't good,
fear is a feeling that will never cover everything.
Fear is a feeling that will never cover everything.