Gray Seattle Sky
“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace”

The Gray Seattle sky back drops our lies, The classes we lie in, the classes we die, Here we all sit alone in our seats, Rain falling down to the gray Seattle streets, The busses make stops and pick up the dead, paying a dollar to visit their friends, Rain falling down soaks to the bone, This rain causes pain and drives us insane. We are lost to find our way, like children running away from their homes. Alone we wander, to the tree house to the pool to the beach no hiding from this rain that keeps falling down.
It cuts us to pieces and wears done our metal, Revealing beneath our true stinging nettle The thorns from within rise to the surface tied close behind what flowers left sunken, Our blood drains out pulling down our masks
Our seats destroyed, we all rise up and take to the streets our thorns and flowers getting picked at by the rain.
Through the streets we flow like the rain. The library doors slam at the hinges, ink flowing down the great stone steps. It pools all around mixed with a tear. Bottoms up they all called my name together they lie all the same
The doors slam shut never the same. For years to come the name fades away. Books once full of love lay on the floor cracked and torn. Ten years pass in the eye with a tear, a boy one day ventured inside to see what shelter he could find. His facade ripped to shreds blood all gone human no more.
A black book he found clean as a lam, not a drop of black ink left. He thumbed through the pages, a passage he found in words of red. Amazed to find words after the flood of ink and tears that day the white horse and rider appeared. He horded away the black book close to his heart and stole away to the streets where the rain flowed still the same. To old town he ran where no one dared ventured. A once great city now destroyed by the rain, storms took their tole as they raged on in hell.
He ran to his home a once great spire white paint flaking off from the storm. To the top he climbed not alone, behind him a girl followed in pain all the same. At the top he stopped to read what little he could. Beside him she sat no flowers left only her nettles left getting sliced at by the rain. Together they sat as he read in his scared voice the story of a man’s life that saved people like them who were all alone in pain. As he finished the rain silenced and the storm ceased the sun rose high in the sky the two were no longer left in the rain, the white spire was left bare with nothing but two roses and a book shining in the sun the old town left empty, the roses stayed forever as a sign to those left to find.