Rains are falling, rivers rising, dogs howl the lowering sky,
descending as a darkness drawn from heavens’ sigh
for every each and one of us who’s asked the question why,
and never heard an answer, and so, in mystery, die.
For the gods are gone, have fled the scene, there’s nothing left but pain,
so fill your glass and sing a song, to live, to laugh again,
or maybe find that love you lost, that vision on a train,
on your way to Malaga, when nothing seemed in vain.