It's beginning to rain and I am soaking wet,
I know it's about to start and I almost wish we never met;
You are standing so far away, and I'm screaming out,
The torrents roar louder, and you can't hear my shouts.
I have to climb a mole hill which quickly turns to a mountain,
And the water fights me like some great natural fountain;
Fatigue is getting me deep,
But I think it's our resentment putting our hearts to sleep.
The moss grows slick under my grasp,
I'm slipping and stumbling, but you don't even gasp;
Are you laughing? Are you crying?
Because as I lose my grip, we both are dying.
