There’s a flood in the room
The cries of the clouds echo through the house
That will be the babies

There’s a thunderstorm in the living room
The thunder booms across the walls
That will be father asking for his paper

There’s a tornado in the bedroom
The wind sweeps everything in its way
And destroys the look
That will be my brother messing with the house

There’s a drought in the kitchen
Sweat rips through anyone who enters
The Sun shines brightly
And its flames flickering and rising
That will be the cuisine cooking