It was as if the bay had woken up    and walked across the city.    I suppose the lightning was quite striking.   But I was too damn cold    to think of it as pretty.    And now it seems like    the twelve won't come at all.    As the rain hits, horizontally,    the glass bus-shelter wall.       Now my calves are slowly soaking    as I cower from the rain.    And the bullshit this day's thrown me,    well it sticks to me again.    So with traffic at a standstill    and with hope my driving force,    watch me walk into the water,    hear me shouting myself hoarse.       And as the rain came down I danced    over the oily river where the road had been.    As though I'd probably missed my chance   I had to tell you that we hadn't covered everything.       The foxes in the fig-trees    they see the city upside-down    and they wrap their wings and settle in    as the weather goes to town.    Now if I could be a catchment,    for whatever comes to pass,    I'd be pouring possibilities    in this half-empty glass.       And as the rain came down I danced    over the oily river where the road had been.    And though I'd probably missed my chance   I had to tell you that we hadn't covered everything.    And when the storm had passed I stood    in the clear dry shadow where your car had been.    And though the forecast wasn't good,    fear is a feeling that will never cover everything.    Fear is a feeling that will never cover everything.