• I stop and stare
    at the powers that remain.
    I'm just a weatherman
    calling out the rain.
    But I'm as silent
    as the roses at your feet.
    Defiant eyes
    calling out defeat.

    From what place
    does the answer call?
    Wherefore shadows
    that puppeteer our fall?
    How can one soul
    make them see the signs?
    The plastic crowds
    all walking in their lines.

    Are we all doomed
    the metal flames of man?
    Do we condemn those
    doing what they can?
    Is it fame, fortune,
    or the game of thrones
    that does drive
    mad men unto their bones?

    I stop and stare
    at the landscapes that remain.
    I'm just a weatherman
    silent in the rain.
    But I'm as pained
    as the roses at your feet;
    wilting slow
    in the fires of defeat.