Not my home, never ever will be A prison, no dear privacy none at all Pockets filled with lint nothing to replace it with Just my hands while I'm sitting here Clock hands wash away the hours Something grabbed a hold of my soul Things just seem so empty as of late I can't feel that the wheel will never move again I can only wait through these times Rain when will it come? Rain when will it come? Work, dance that I do, will it summon the clouds? Frown will I cast off this grey sullen shroud? Gears will they move grinding turning away? Questions that I ask through these dreadful days Rain, when will it come? Rain, when will it come? I can't feel that the wheel will never move again I can only wait through these times Gla**es filled with melting ice and liquor Ashtrays soon to be combed over Rolling swirls of smoke do twirl Through beams of evening sun