[bad word] And the leaves are lookin brown and dry.
Sun swings low,
[bad word] resists the thirsty ground.

Uselessly,
I try to coax a cloud or two.
Searchin the skies,
Knowin there ain't nothing left to do.

Summer's turned to gold,
My garden's tired and old,
The dust swirls round my bowl -
And still, no sign of rain.

Faithfully,
I've tended to my patch of land.
Year by year,
I've scratched to keep my humble clan.

Now and then
Some [bad word] out of the blue.
Trouble is,
They've always been too far and few.

Summer's turned to fall,
The air is thick and cold,
I feel it in my bones -
But still, no sign of rain.

Silence shades my lonely claim -
Though all is gold, there is no rain.
Still, I hear my singinbones
And I believe

Rain will fall.