A horrible, glorious rainy morning

It's out there, and it's in here
Out there, in here...
Columns of cold drops on pained glass
Columns of drops out on the lawn
Of painted grass
At dawn.
And it's in my head that
Three chorded song...

Birth, life, death
It's out there, and it's all over the place
In Here,
The sky is shaking with sounds
And bleeding down rain.
I'm floating, six inches two or three seconds
Counts,
Even though it's not exactly flying...

Yes, I'm on medication, a depressive, you can call me that.
I prefer 'fugitive'. I like things that make me
Feel like someone else, so I can escape boring pseudoreality

And all the horror and glory it so tidily hides away
And the motions we go through so the game gets played.
Yes, you could call me afraid.

Afraid of thinking too much until my thoughts become frayed
And I run out of options, paint myself into too many
Corners and then all I see are corners...

And I can't move and can't breathe and can't feel anymore
That's what I'm running from, that's what I escape for.
That's what I'm running from, that's what the rain is for.

It's out there, and it's in here
It's out there, and it's in here
It's out there, and it's in here...