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The thunder rolls in springtime storm,
Meadow flowers shrink in fright,
The tempest draws near.
Blue skies swiftly swept away,
By curtains of ashen cloud,
A flash streaks the heavens—
The storm is near.
The rain pours down,
Cold drops strike my face,
Someone switches on their headlights—
The sky turns dark.
I run back home,
Change my soaked clothes,
Draw the curtains tight,
And switch on the ceiling light.
The thunder rolls in springtime storm,
Meadow flowers shrink in fright,
The tempest draws near.
The thunder rolls in springtime storm…