some people can look in the eye of a storm
and see a god sitting on a pearly throne
but when I gaze outside of my rainstained window
all I see are trees dancing in the wind
and tears from above

maybe I was born in a storm
I’ve certainly got the temperament for one inside
don’t chain me up in these walls
unless that’s where I want to be

and when I wake up in the morning
hair curly and a bedraggled mess from the previous night
don’t call me a “sweet baby girl”
because I’m none of these things

it’s time to come inside
the clouds are rolling in thick and black
I can’t see anywhere past the hill
are you still out there?


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