I stare out the window,
The rain falls down to the soil.
The day is like the way I feel,
sad, depressed, the rain has made me think deeply, my memories, my lonliness.
The sun tries to come out,
but the clouds and the rain likes the attention.
No one really likes the rain, ruins people's plans, people's happiness.
The sun can only cheer them up, and the rain can only sadden them again.
The poor rain is being hated,
But not like us, who use the rain as inspiration.
Us people who have gotten hurt thousands of time,
who will never heal from our wounds from battle.
The rain is loved by oh so many,
but more people cherish the sun,
until they get hurt in their own battle,
making them grateful for the rain as well.
Oh dear rain, you are not hated, but misunderstood,
except by me and everyone else in pain.
Never shall I hate you,
until the day I get healed from my wounds from battle, but my wounds have scarred my skin, that shall stay in me forever.
