When I was young,
when I was rowdy and wilful,
my grandmother would sing to amuse me.
Afternoons in summer,
her songs would soothe me,
and that lovey song was sung like this:
*the sky is dark, it wants to rain;
the sky is dark, black and black.
Leaving childhood,
I built a life I called my own.
With new songs and new ideas,
And where wilfulness and rowdiness were no longer,
I forgot how there was still that song:
the sky is dark, it wants to rain;
the sky is dark, black and black.
I fell in love with someone who I would give anything for.
And I thought, this must be the world that I was searching for.
Yet, stubborn and in a mess, I was misunderstood and cheated.
And behind this grown-up world, is it always so cracked?
Every day I walk and face diverging roads,
and I miss those small things that were simple and beautiful.
And love always brings tears,
always brings dissatisfaction.
The sky is wide and I am without clarity.
I am lonely.
I fell in love with someone who I would give anything for.
And I thought, this must be the world that I was searching for.
Yet, stubborn and in a mess, I was misunderstood and cheated.
And behind this grown-up world, is it always so cracked?
Every day I walk and face diverging roads,
and I miss those small things that were simple and beautiful.
And love always brings tears,
always brings dissatisfaction.
The sky is wide and I am without clarity.
I am lonely.
And when the sky falls dark,
I recall that song
and now suddenly, I am waiting for silent rain in anticipation.
Ah, but grandma had already sung the lesson to me:
When it rains, march bravely ahead.
And I believe now, that all will become still.
And all I want now is to return home.
The sky is dark, it wants to rain;
the sky is dark, black and black.