Not my home, never ever will be
A prison, no dear privacy none at all
Pockets filled with lint nothing to replace it with
Just my hands while I'm sitting here

Clock hands wash away the hours

Something grabbed a hold of my soul
Things just seem so empty as of late
I can't feel that the wheel will never move again
I can only wait through these times
Rain when will it come?
Rain when will it come?

Work, dance that I do, will it summon the clouds?
Frown will I cast off this grey sullen shroud?
Gears will they move grinding turning away?
Questions that I ask through these dreadful days
Rain, when will it come?
Rain, when will it come?
I can't feel that the wheel will never move again
I can only wait through these times

Glasses filled with melting ice and liquor
Ashtrays soon to be combed over

Rolling swirls of smoke do twirl
Through beams of evening sun