It Must be The Rain.

It must be the rain that is washing everything away. 

There is no way all could be forgotten so easily so fast, it must be the rain.
Drop by drop it washes off the thoughts, the memories, the ideas, the pain, the suffering, the will to resist and the wish to change from our heads. 

As every bead of rain follows the path of gravity on the skin, frees itself from us, drips onto the ground and soaks these forsaken streets in rain water, little by little it paves our cities with the crimes and the sufferings we are forgetting. 

I can only be the rain, how else would we be so deaf, while the cries keep calling for us louder and louder?

The rain must have also rendered our hands cold and slippery.
I find no other possible explanation for how our hands got so far, while it was only yesterday we stood side by side in a shield wall to protect our dreams from harm.

It must be the rain, for I have been hearing nothing else for ages now.