How do the raindrops know where to fall?
And just how many really fall each time it rains?
How often do you sit and listen to the millions of raindrops land in puddles?
How many times have you sat and cried as the night fell?
And just why do the tears stop when the sun comes up?
How many different ways are there to express these things?
Why do the clouds move while the earth seems to stand at a still?
Why does the dew sit so still on the morning grass?
How does the night know when to come and go?
Why does the flower bloom when I know it shouldn’t?
And the noise of a breaking heart has never been more silent.
When the voices subside, and the emotions are gone.
When you realize the reasons you’re crying, aren’t really reasons at all.
When there’s nothing else left to live for, and all hope is lost
There’s always a light, at the end.
Why do the stars know to shine each night?
And why does the moon smile, its sinical smile?
Who tells the trees to laugh with the wind?
And who tells me that I’m the one who knows it all?
When does the snow stop falling?
And why does the sun melt through it all?
If everything were silent, would my tears make a sound?
Would my pain make an audible noise for you to hear?
Would you notice, and would you care for me if it did?
A vague smile from far away, resembling a faint laugh
A torn up polaroid laying in traffic
Questions nothing to myself of being who I am
If the past relived itself, and you were still would, you you be disappointed?
If the raindrops fell, but missed you, would you be concerned?