The rain on the panes of my window,
beats 100 times as fast as my pulse.
And I've never known myself to get so low.
But this emptiness that makes my skin convulse
is because my love was delayed due to the rain
and it may never start again.
The rain on the panes of my ceiling
drips to the promontory below.
And the secrets those drops are concealing
are for some supposed god to know.
And I think you're keeping secrets from me;
I'm keeping a secret from you.