i got nattering gnats that pinch and pry
i got parched sunbeams that drink me dry

i got restless train tracks that go nowhere
i got lily-white preachers that smell like a snare

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i got crosses, canyons, desert, and lace
i got maple winters burnt by fate

i got vulture voices hollow and lack
i got drowned old saints in a flaming pack

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i got selfish bumblebees buried alive
i got chains of worth stretched nine to five

i got crisscrossed pockets, five soon late
i got hidden fog that jumps its gate

i hear it come and it’s always the same
i shake my fist at the pouring rain

i hear it come but it’s never the same
i stretch my hands out toward the rain