Isn’t is funny how all is quiet before a storm,
How the world seems to know and doesn’t want to warn.
Like it has its own little secret,
And wants us all to regret.
That we ever thought we could outsmart,
Something we could never leave or part with.
Maybe it is the Earth crying or just cleansing itself,
But the beauty of a storm it just something of its own wealth.
Why is it quiet before a storm,
Is it a secret, a cleansing or a morn?
This I do not know, or really plan to know anytime soon,
Because the world has a beat, a song or mystic tune.
Something as this so ancient cannot be understood,
If we were meant to know by now, we would.
Isn’t it funny how all is quiet before a storm,
How the world seems to know and doesn’t want to warn.
Like it has its own little secret,
And wants us all to regret.
That we ever thought we could outsmart,
Something we could never leave or part with.
Maybe it is the Earth crying or just cleansing itself,
But the beauty of a storm it just something of its own wealth.
Why is it quiet before a storm,
Is it a secret, a cleansing or a morn?
This I do not know, or really plan to know anytime soon,
Because the world has a beat, a song or mystic tune.
Something as this so ancient cannot be understood,
If we were meant to know by now, we would.
Isn’t it funny how all is quiet before a storm,
How the world seems to know and doesn’t want to warn.
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