... I am nothing like the thunder I so admire... thy 's naught but the lightning; that scathing hot 'n fast strike that doth leave naught but a jagged, ugly scarring. Thy hath been ordained a curse. 'Twas all I was meant to be.
Thy doth so adore the rain: Whilst thunder do so frighten me, It seeks not t' bring thy pain. in sense, we are kindred; nay, one. 'Tis mine hope as well t' possibly exist betwixt innocent rain.