Rainfall

© Words and music by Ray Scudero. All rights reserved.

Now what’s happened to the sun?
Air so still you hear the crickets crawling.
The dogs are telling everyone:
The shadows soften and disappear.
And the clouds weave their magic through the trees,
Washing the woods into watercolor wonder,
Distant thunder on the silken summer breeze.

And the rain falls,
Tapping out a tempo on the maple and the oak.
You hear the rain fall,
Wrapping merry rhythm ’round the emerald cloak of the forest.

Ah, you cannot steal the song:
The weather writes it on the mossy ground.
And as I try to play along,
My chords get tangled up like twigs and leaves—
There’s a melody clear as a rainbow—just as hard to hold.

And the rain falls,
Tapping out a tempo on the maple and the oak.
You hear the rain fall,
Wrapping merry rhythm ’round the emerald cloak of the forest.

And the rain falls ...

So many shavings on the floor ...
Old-timer carving in the sassafras,
Not much for working anymore.
But time is softer in the quiet hills.
And there’s always pretty music in the rain.
Memory drifts through my mind like the mist through the trees—
Just as hard to hold.

And the rain falls,
Tapping out a tempo on the maple and the oak.
You hear the rain fall,
Wrapping merry rhythm ’round the emerald cloak of the forest.

And the rain falls ...




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