No more water here No more well here Pump's all rotted Been replaced with steel This town (it takes a village.) Aches with its loss

It shudders painfully Throes of death (ring a bell) Heaving for release From cottony repression

Townsfolk (sans pitchforks) Do rain dances Gesture madly to the sky (a simple enough expression)

While I I Sit and wonder why Imagination intact Still I can't cry