My love’s like a storm brewing om’nously;
If and when the storm might break, will it end
In joy, or in heartbreaking tragedy?
Hate is strong; wounded hearts you cannot mend.
Love is pure; it struggles on through the clouds
It helps the deaf to hear and the blind to see
It conquers fear and sings out loud
But is it enough to save you and me?
You who laugh and dance in the rain
Me who smiles to myself and thinks
Your words stop my sorrow and end my pain
Things so small I would miss them if I blink.

And though I wish you the best my friend,
The storm might storm and the love might end.