It’s raining sunshine,
The sky covered by a blinding light,
Storms of rays,
And muted thunders,
And a never-ending lightning.

Why should a bumblebee fly?
When it can get a free ride on the window of a cable car,
There’s a poor man that’s happy with his lot,
There’s a rich man that’s in dire need,
And it’s raining sunshine on both of them.

But only the poor one is getting soaked,
The wealthy man’s car rooftop is keeping him dry,
Not even a single droplet has reached him,
He stands under that moving shadow,
Not aware of the miracle he’s missing.

There’s a sweeper in the street,
Gathering every bit of sun that reached the asphalt,
Raking it into invisible piles,
Piles that only trained eyes can learn to see.

Then, violent winds in the shape of a mild breeze,
Come scattering the small domes,
And the sweeper looks cheerfully at his effort wasted,
As the rays disperse and hit some people passing by,
Catching them blissfully unaware.

But it’s all right,
The weatherwoman predicts that more storms of sunlight are expected,
So there’ll be enough time to bag up some more rays,
In case you missed them.