Mountains are cold
Thunder is dry
It makes such a cold rumbly feeling inside
The faces are thin
They laugh and they hide
When you try to get by
When you look for the rain
All you find in the pain of the thirst in your brain
No one can quench your unquenchable need
To have love to be honest to be good in love and in deed
So what do you do in the mountains’ terrain?
Do you wax do you wane with the feeling that rain
MAY come down MAY come to you MAY leave you out of feeling that blue.
You need rain. You need color. You need to be out of the monotony of monochromes and dolor.
So time passes. The thunder kills. It warns you of plunder and tears you asunder.
But it indicates. It indicates your wonder. You can live in the dry as long as you don’t go under.
Those faces. The dry. The color. That takes you under.