He sits in the rain. He always comes when it rains. The rainy-day man, that’s what the locals call him, the rainy-day man, the rainy-day man, the rainy-day man.

Saying his name three times doesn’t summon him, and it most certainly doesn’t stop him from coming.

He’ll come and sit in the rain.

He’ll come and walk in the rain.

Tall, always in black, his skin, his head, all milky white like eyes after death.

The rainy-day man always comes when it rains.

Hallowed out eyes with a cloth covering his lower chin.

No one knows what lies underneath that cloth that covers his lower chin.

Locals say it is nothing more then a void of darkness that lies beneath.

Locals say that it’s broken, rotten down teeth that lies beneath.

No one knows…

No one knows…

Gods, don’t let him knock on my door.

He’s the rainy-day man and he comes with the rain.

Or maybe the rain comes with him?

No one knows…

No one knows….

Locals say they only see him when it rains. Lost in thought, Lost to death, Lost his way.

Children better stay inside on every rainy day.

For when he comes, and he does always come, anyone he sees, that dares to meet his gaze, he’ll follow them home and they won’t come out again.

Those who are brave, or stupid, to walk the rainy streets….

A fear, a death, a lost, a sorrow will take hold and that will be it.

That will be his hand, his face, his voice, all of which is milky white like eyes after death.

He sits in the rain.

He always comes when it rains.

The rainy-day man, a foul soul collector…

You’ll see the storm clouds first and then his dusty old umbrella.