Rain on the brain
Now there's flowers in your window
She oh she's so strange
If its all the same to you
Here's what im gonna do
I'm gonna write a song
Gonna sing it to everyone
Then I'll sing it to you
'Cos it was you that wrote it too
This could be the last train
Search, within yourself,
Window, with a room
In her hair and on her jacket
There's a picture in white of Che Guevara
As he sits beneath the tree,
that's not important
Well maybe he looked a bit like me
If you took all the little feelings in your heart
And took all those little feelings all apart
Oh now what's the point in doing all of that?