The Stranger

I woke in the rain,
With a pocket of pain, and a stranger asleep at my side.
With a grip on his pack, and the shirt on his back,
From a tour back in '75.

He stirred with the beat
Of the rain at his feet,
and he drank what remained of his pride.
He asked for my truth,
And who I was in my youth,
And, of course, when I answered... I lied.

I'm the Sun and the Rain.
I'm the course through your veins.
I'm the reason the Moon pulls the tide.
I'm the voice you can hear
when your conscience is clear.
I'm the artist who painted your sky.