The hailstorm of being
Flings boulders of ice
Whilst words are whispered in my ear
That the sky is falling
The pitter-patter of a gentle summer's rain
Used to be the beat and tempo
To which I set my refrain
My chorus
My bridge
My whole composition
But the storms have set in
And my pitter-patter now booms with thunder
And crashes with lightning
Like crumbling monuments
From those of us
In centuries past
I've seen what was, what is, and what soon shall pass
Like the sculptor
My actions etch shape
Into the makings of my own future
He, who I will be
Watches me
From inside the block of stone that is my life
I'm chiseling away
With expert precision
But the hailstorm marks my masterpiece
With threatening imperfections
Relentless
Unceasing
Unyielding
Increasing
Frequency and intensity
The boulders now fly
With malice and spite
My song skips a beat
All bark and all bite
Some demon unleashed
This salvo upon me
This sculptor is broken
My stone falls around me
I've ripped a hole in the sky
And shouted out into space
The lead I have lost
In this mad dashing race
I'm sorry
Forgive me
Clip the madness quickly
I watched these cities fall down
Quickly and without sound
The monuments we built
Barely stand at half mast
Wondering if this was truly the last
Predictions of God's little fingers
Playing games of chance with blindfolds
We linger
In ruins of home
And wastelands formerly know as tomorrow
My masterpiece
Now the infinite sorrow
My old vinyl slips
On the absence of pitter-patters
The hailstorm of being
Deals its blow
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