The rain falls cold this time of year,
it gets hard to distinguish if that is smoke I'm exhaling,
at times like this it is easy to remember why they call this the rainy city.
As a jet goes by I even remember why they call this jet city,
and looking out at the evergreen landscape,
I see why they call this the emerald city.
The names fit in every way that I can see.
I sip my warm glogg mixed with blue sky vodka,
the name is enough for my imagination to picture the blue skies,
even though the sun went down hours ago...
the rain started days ago...
and cloudy for weeks...
Tomorrow I will be reminded of where the roots of this city came from.
I'll ride the bus past Boeing field, up past the train station and into down town.
I'll ride past the Bank of America tower...
the Washington Mutual tower...
and to the corner where they big Christmas tree is lit.
I'll walk to my building,
in which I'll ride the elevator to the tenth floor
there I will sit at my desk.
I will watch the rain.
I'll know there are mountains in the distance.
I will know the sun is somewhere up there.
I will be happy just knowing this.