Black rain falling, a pale residue painting all scenery gray. Times wardrobe has never changed.

The bell, still cracked, hanging with dignity in open air. These lines written so often that even stone can no longer hold the burden they summarize.

Again we try to live according to grace, once more I watch in order to decipher the masters technique.

Bless these eyes whom can see once again the faded colors of dawn and know the scent of spring air.

Bless these eyes whom can tear for the worlds sorrows and feel the pain of injustice.

Bless these eyes for they see hope reflected in the puddles of black rain falling in the night.