Dime Store Prophets Feels Like Rain
I cut across a dust bowl, Indian autumn sky.
The land was parched and thirsty, like a widowed mother's cry.
I slipped through voodoo mystics, merchants and the thieves.
The air smelt like religion, enlightenment's not Free.
The road was filled with Followers, panting for a cure.
A street side hippie guru, beckoned me "Come near".
His clothes smelled like patchouli, his blanket offered oils.
Tried to sell me talismans, for the road that was within.
[Chorus:]
Oh, feels like rain...
Oh, feels like rain,
I saw it in the factories, where sweat has lost its price.
I watched it in the hospice halls, and I tried to hold a smile.
I saw it in suburbia, where bumper stickers preach.
If truth is all so relative, why do we still reach.
[Chorus:]
Oh, feels like rain...
Oh, feels like rain,
I wish the sky would open up all over me.
Oh, feels like rain, like rain
Rain
The answer's in the question.
The answer's in the question.
I wish it would rain x6
Rain on me
Wont you rain
Rain on me
Rain
We've got angels on the television, prophets on the news.
Doomsday rocket scientists, save me from my blues.
A spiritual awakening for the working stitch.
I never walk into the light, unless I know who turned the switch.
[Chorus:]
Oh, feels like rain...
Oh, feels like rain,
I wish the sky would open up all over me.
Oh, feels like rain, like rain
Rain
