The birds would laugh at Job,
their song would torture him.
Always a steady rain fell,
soakingand chilling him.
He could always see a dry,
light place on the horizon.
He would walk for miles, muttering,
"I`m sure this rain won`t last. I`m sure it`s time is up.
Though it`s pouring down, I`m sure this rain won`t last."
As it fell on Job`s eyes,
this water of doubt,
he said, "I`m wading in lies, it`s wearing me out.
But if you want it, all right. I`ll buy it."
The trees whispered to Job.
The wind screamed,
"blood too dirty for mosquitos,
I hope that you die soon.
Pray to any god you believe in."
One day, Job screamed back.
"Those people, they had families.
Their families don`t have them.
You`re not any god I believe in.
I hope the rain ruins the work you did."
At that moment, the clouds parted.
Job found himself in the sun.
Job`s god was left in the storm that he`d created.
He moaned, "I`m sure this rain won`t last.
I`m sure it`s time is up.
Though it`s pouring down,
I`m sure this rain won`t last."