More than rain

it's more than rain
that falls on our parade tonight
it's more than thunder
it's more than thunder

it's more than a swindle
this crooked card game
it's more than sad times
it's more than sad times

none of our pockets are filled with gold
nobody's caught the boquet
there are no dead presidents we can fold
nothing is going our way

and it's more than goodbye
I have to say to you
it's more than woe-be-gotten grey skies now

Tom Waits (Franks Wild Years)