August Rain
As the rain patters against the pane
The sun is no where to be seen
The flower buds are closed
Hiding the beauty, the beauty that had been
An afternoon in the middle of summer
The fires lit, the flames dance
To the music that plays on the stereo
And we could of taken our holidays
in
A bottle of whiskey sits on the table
Locked is the front door, off the hook is the phone,
As we cuddle on the couch
You look at me and say “there’s no place like home.”