Always the promise of things to come
Always the showers and
the burning sun
During our stormy season
A dark cloud awaiting above to burst
As we wander through this leafy hearst
during our stormed season.
The path to true love, nair and smooth,
never let out of this endless wood,
never did bring any sorts of good.
During our stormed season,
At every turn, a nettle stings
At every tree, a helpless flea
During a stormy season
We
wrestle with our fears
And never win a foe
We water with our tears
the gardens we recall.
I swear by every precious sign,
by all of the fight and steps we've made,
By all of the ramings that we made
That there will be a reason
When the dandelion clocks
complete their day
And all of these traces have blown away
They'll remain our stolen season
Our stormin' season, always spring
Always the promise of things to come
Always the showers and rarely the sun
During our stormin' season