Indeed outside the rain is a wicked beat,
It rests its veins in the pain of our seat.
Beating the pane of a window close by,
The stars cannot even open an eye.
Stealing the show one thousand feet in air,
The sun to come out, it will not dare.
A loveless romance, it tears our thought,
To a wretched soul, our minds do rot.
Withering heights claim it has a righteous name,
I agree with the swift wind it strikes the blame.
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