Raindrops tap lightly on the roof,...Little hands, wanting to come inside?Then swiftly they turn into ropes,Like your hair through my dreams...
The wind takes them, rocks them, rubs them on the tiles,I hear their rustling, full of passion.My mind flies far away through the mist,Into your long, golden-silken hair...
I feel like climbing onto the roof and lying down,For the hair and the rain to caress me.To never tire of the rustling,Rubbing against me, awake and in my sleep..
Let me get soaked by the drops, string them in a line,Gather the ropes and weave them into a braid.To pull you with force from where you are far away,To bring you close into the real kingdom...
The braid of rain, the grip of your voice, calls me!
