Last night I wrote a song that made me weep. 

A song that flows like the Isles of Scilly.

Sweeping across the land,

Flowing through the fingers of the yellow peacock flowers

The wind of my emotions creating a small storm...

I could smell a sickly scent

New Glarus on my fathers tongue

It swept across the house like a thick cloud of smoke

That smoke that burned the bodies, 

The sickly smell that could only come from a factory.

Burning rubber to press together the very shoes I wear on my feet.

The high-top Chuck Taylors I lace up to this day.

Who knew the smell from cinched rubber was that of my own flesh?

The thought of the Holocaust made my eyes water-

-slowly my storm began.

The rain showers pitter-pattered on the roof of my soul.

As tears fell from my eyes,

The droplets directed my pencil

To better memories from summer nights 

I wrote the most beautiful lyrics.

I can smell the rain

The distinct smell of that sweet sweet rain.

On those warm summer nights

Under a cover of thick clouds.

Protecting my childlike virginity from the world. 

The Lord only knows how long I was pure. 

How beautiful the world is, 

Until the fire is lit.

Burning away those sweet clouds

And filling the page with a song that will make you weep.