Gently rapping at your sill, You won't let me inside, People see me in the streets, They hurry past and hide, It's not my fault, you know, I didn't ask to be, No wonder why, can't help but cry, It's lonesome being me

The drops that keep the world turning A lack of it would be concerning A soft, slow fall or an arrival with no delay It might leave a sight after going away

Born of earth yet prized as sky, I wear green calm where secrets lie. I harden patience, not with flame, But time and pressure stake my claim. Kings wore me for luck, not blade, Name the stone that peace has made.

Hard sediment, tough and natural, seen all around. Music, fast and catchy, keep up with the beat. A chair without the ing, a slight motion, forward and back.

Lucy was here with carbon with very demanding parents.