Текст песни The Thunderstorm - Graeme Allwright

The Thunderstorm
(L'Orage) (Translation By Andrew Kelly)

Please don't talk about sun, you can talk about rain:
All those good weather days were made to drive me insane,
And when it's blue skies – I curse out loud:
For the truly great love of my life in this world
Was sent in a storm from Jove, the lightning God,
When love came down from Heaven's thunder clouds.

One dark night in November a thunderstorm crashed.
Above roof-tops that trembled sheets of lightning flashed,
And in the tempest high winds howled and roared.
Then the lady next-door in a great state of fear
And her night-dress came over – she hoped that help was near –
She knocked so hard she nearly broke my door.

I'm alone and afraid, won't you please let me in?
My poor husband's out, a storm means work for him;
He's got to earn his keep against the odds.
He goes out on the job in the worst kind of weather
But the reason is plain – he's a salesman as you'll gather.
He's finding customers for lightning rods .

And I blessed the inventor, good Benjamin Franklin,
As I opened my arms and took her safely within –
You know that Love will always find a way.
But I wonder super-salesman of lightning conduction
Why you made the mistake, and issued no instruction
To put one in for her security?

Now when Jove and his thunderbolts went off elsewhere
And the beauty at last had overcome her fear,
And had completely pulled herself together;
She went home where she dried out the poor man, but first
Made her plans to return if a thunderstorm should burst.
We had a date! Depending on the weather!

From that moment I never once lowered my eyes,
I did nothing but gaze upon the great wide skies
And watch the passing clouds that floated free.
I would look out for stratus, I would seek out the nimbus,
Making eyes to encourage fair cumulus into grimness,
And yet she never did come back to me.

For that evening her husband had been in fine fettle
And the fellow had sold so many bits of metal
That he became a millionaire no wonder!
So he took her away to the bluest of skies,
To the stupidest lands where rain's not recognized
And no-one's even heard of thunder.

Dearest Lord, hear my prayer: send her on my lament,
Let it tell her of loving in the storm you sent,
Of how we braved the tempest, seized our chance.
And of love at first sight – how the lightning engraved
On my heart a small flower, I'll bear it to the grave,
A sprig of rosemary, that's for Love's Remembrance.