The rain hits hard… Subway rides and cheap hotels, cheap scotch and hitching rides… The rain hits hard.

Walking through Times Square with nothing but your sunglasses, most people walk past, some stop and stare and others laugh or cry.

Yet your beauty is unparalleled…

Through the streets you feel the rain, the wind, the chill… But you know it won’t kill you, nothing ever will. Still, the rain hits hard…

The rooftops seem to call me, I just walk on by. Them seven girls once cared for me, now I’m simply a faded photograph.

It’s on me, it’s in me, it’s how I’m built and how I have been programmed… When you have a sense of blues, the rain hits hard.