From the recording VIII


When I was young I read words on a pageI didn’t understand – I hadn’t come of ageBut when I was older I heard the refrainI wear the grey robe of the rainI call to the sun in the skyDry the silver tear in my eyeI feel the dig of that chainI wear the grey robe of the rainI saw a lady – She walked through the townShe had dazzling jewels and a rich velvet gownBut I looked in her eyes – There was no need to explainShe said, “Yes, I wear the grey robe of the rain”Once in my travels I came upon a childWith the pallor of one who has never run wildThin face lifted to the light all aloneLike a flower that grows through the cracks of a stoneI’ve squandered and scattered and wasted my daysEverything of value I have gambled awayNow I’m hollow and haunted and I can just bear the strainI wear the grey robe of the rainTime’s whip left a welt – Life’s grip left a bruiseNo doctor can heal and still I refuseTo wither, to bend, to succumb to the painSomeday I’ll throw off the grey robe of the rain