by Armin Tanovic

The Home of a Friend

Stop there in your tracks, look upon my home
Where the grey clouds of easier days roam
Look at my fields, so vast in their glory
Just like an old face with its own story

And upon my fields, you shall find a dove
Which sings a song sweet as heaven above
And upon my fields you shall find a crow
Which sings a song dark as the depths below

And above my fields you shall find moonlight
Which looks down upon my home through the night
And through my fields you shall find a cool gale
Which hugs the poor soul that lies cold and frail

And upon my fields the clouds bleed clear blood
And wash away the hate in a vast flood
So stop and sit if upon them you walk
Sit with a weary traveler and talk

Talk about the fields that he calls his pride
Speak to him of his fields whilst you sit by his side
He shall answer you in a cheery tone
His greatest fear is to be left alone

So on the fields, do not move a muscle
Watch the leaves dance in the wind and tussle
And watch the sky before it starts to bend
For you know, my fields shall soon have their end.

Shout at the Rain

Like tears they fall towards the earth
With every drop I feel their pain
And with every cry a demon gives birth
I am left shouting at the rain

I stumbled from my home
Many thought me to be insane
For wherever I did roam
They saw me shouting at the rain

Telling heaven to cease its weeping
I pleaded, I pleaded in vain
For it awoke the devil within sleeping
Yet it did not stop the rain

But I kept on walking
For once I called it my friend
And to me it kept on talking
On and on without end

Soon I learned to find peace
With tears which fell from the sky
I wish no longer for it to cease
Nowadays I just pass on by