Tea of the Plum Rain

[Verse 1] The window breathes a softer kind of grey, A kettle hums its slow and sleepy song. I pour the steam like ink across the day, And let the waiting carry me along. The plums are falling somewhere out of sight, The rooftops weep in silver, thin and long. I wrap my hands around this warming light, A quiet ritual against the throng. [Pre-Chorus] And every drop becomes a tiny bell, That tolls for all the things I cannot say. The leaves unfold a quiet, green dispel, And time itself decides to softly stay. [Chorus] So pour me tea of the plum rain, Let it steep beneath my sorrow. Every cloud becomes a slow refrain, Borrowed from a softer morrow. I will wait inside this gentle stain, Where the monsoon turns to tomorrow. And the steam will write your name, In a language only tea can borrow. [Verse 2] My cup is small, my patience even smaller still, The hallway echoes footsteps far away. The cat is curled beside the window sill, As thunder whispers verses soft and grey. I count the beads of rain along the pane, Like rosary of every absent friend. The sorrow lifts, then softly falls again, A tide that comes, and pauses, and will bend. [Pre-Chorus] And every drop becomes a tiny bell, That tolls for all the things I cannot say. The leaves unfold a quiet, green dispel, And time itself decides to softly stay. [Chorus] So pour me tea of the plum rain, Let it steep beneath my sorrow. Every cloud becomes a slow refrain, Borrowed from a softer morrow. I will wait inside this gentle stain, Where the monsoon turns to tomorrow. And the steam will write your name, In a language only tea can borrow. [Bridge] The east wind shakes the loose and restless leaves, The west wind folds them gently back to sleep. I hum a tune the quiet tea pot weaves, And watch the monsoon pour its secret keep. If love is just a cup you slowly pour, Then I am full, and full, and full once more. [Instrumental Solo] [Chorus] So pour me tea of the plum rain, Let it steep beneath my sorrow. Every cloud becomes a slow refrain, Borrowed from a softer morrow. I will wait inside this gentle stain, Where the monsoon turns to tomorrow. And the steam will write your name, In a language only tea can borrow. [Outro] The kettle cools, the sky begins to clear, I taste the plum rain in a final tear.