Vous lisez
As the sun comes through, the burden of a clean slate is thrusted with it.
As the concrete dried out, the air's still filled with drops,
The precipitation's still lingering in our thoughts.
The aftermath always has the taste of a new era,
Anything seems possible, yet nothing is concrete.
As we're drowned by our own surrounding,
Our lungs seem to crave life in spite of the pouring,
As if the best can only submerge from bad weather.
Yet, now that it has ended, whether we're left gasping or not,
We have to catch our breath and snatch our will from the sewer.