Riding on the blasting winds,
Shrouded, hidden within the clouds,
Ready for the purging downfall.

The rain,
Falling upon this bone-dry land,
Perish the dust devils;
Let the grasses grow!

Bring forth the rain,
So the birds will sign again,
So the flowers will bloom,
So the rivers will flow.

Let the rain come,
That my parched face
Be washed clean;
Once more renewed.

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