Everyone's got a bone to pick with the weatherman, but what about the sky?

I've never been one for just predicting-it's dangerous, careless; and I've got my
head
screwed
on
too
tight.

I could read the maps all day,
but I'd rather just pick up leave and run.
I try not to be bitter when I wake up,
but all that
bird-chirping-business
while its
raining-cats-and-dogs
has got me spinning in my mind
and closing jagged doors,
and pulling shades on the
windows 'til their tight,
shut-up, closed-down.