No one knows why raindrops hurt your heart.

No bothers to wonder, and I wonder why.

A man hunts down a weapon,

But never once questions the rain.

Scars on the heart run deeper than any other,

But they are from cuts that heal far too fast.

No one bothers to listen, to feel,

And a long-scarred heart has consequences.

A man hunts down a weapon,

But never looks to the cause of why

The very weapon was clasped in a person's hand.

That reason is the weapon. That reason alone.

Raindrops are not the weapon,

The forgotten feeling is.

No one sits alone in the rain and smiles

With head hung high.

It does something to people.

It does something to everyone.

And I guess some people scar easier.

Some people scar so fast that no one has a chance to notice.

They just leave a man to hunt for a weapon

And never hunt the cause

And so they found the weapon, the tangible weapon

And they called it what they saw

I searched for the real weapon

And called it what it was.

It was one scar too many from too many nights in the rain,

Sitting all alone on a porch step.

And nobody knows why a raindrop hurts your heart

But I know that it does, and I cry.

I know that it does, and I see things

I know that it does, and I am judged.

I know that it does, but I do not know why.

And the weight of the tangible rests in my hands

Passed on from the hands of a friend

Who spent too many nights in the rain.