The villians dance across my grave
rejoicing as the Angels weep
Not tears of sorrow or joy
  or even excitement or passion

Just weeping like that old tree in front of Dad's old house
where I lost more than my mind

Most likely what will happen now will hurt
  like that night seven years ago when it didn't even rain
The bitch clouds held their breath and withheld judgement
  unwilling to spoil the perfect paradox
  of rage and want and remembered pair-bonding antics
  that were obviously false phony forgotten frigid rigid rotten

The bitch clouds were taken aback by the storm
  of pregnant lies and ichor flooding the festival
  and failed to rain
  not for the last time

Failed to rain...
...not for the last time
Just weeping...
...not for the last time
Just weeping...
...not for the last time