all morning mild rain fell from the sky,
– today
the snails came out to play,
they walked the sidewalks,
bathed again
a little song started to play:
Some songs feel like butter
Some songs sound like cake
later, the sun came out,
scared the snails
and the rain away
but a big fluffy cloud blew
on its yellow face!
and the sun sadly said:
Cry me a river
So I can float over to you
The bearer to deliver the news
I'm over the moon
And underfoot
All these elixirs would be moot
now it is the night
the snails are gone
the sun, and the cloud, también
the little song has finished, oh!
now, is all, again, the same
'Cause if we knew where we belong.
There'd be no doubt where we're from.
But as it stands, we don't have a clue.
Especially me and probably you.
