I count the drops like names I used to know, they blur the street, they blur the face I show. Concrete breathes out steam and then forgets, my pocket's full of tickets with no debts. And every corner folds into the grey, the maps I drew dissolve away. Paper rain, falling through my hands, letters wash away, we built on sand. If time's a match, I'm holding the flame, watch it curl — watch it go — paper rain. Umbrellas gossip, whisper to the curb, streetlights flick like hearts that barely burn. I traced your name on fogged up window glass, it ran like ink, like all things come to pass. And every promise folds into the grey, the maps we trusted steal themselves away. Paper rain, falling through my hands, photographs that fray, like loose thread plans. If memory's a house, it knows the drain, doors swing shut — then they swing — paper rain. I talk to puddles, they don't talk back — they only hold reflections of the cracks. We keep our treasures in a shoebox hole, but even shoeboxes have paper souls. So if you find the corner of my name, don't pin it down — let it catch the rain. Paper rain, falling through our hands, city hums a hymn of soft demands. If life is fragile as a windowpane, let it break — let light leak — paper rain. The day goes blunt, the evening learns to bend, I watch the rain — and let the pages end.
