I live in hell. There is no rain. It sure would be nice, to gather a Handful of Rain. There are more facets to this statement, but it’s dry as F here.
There is a point where my fingers crack, I have splits across them due to the dryness. Here in AZ, 2020 was one of the dryest in our history.
And like the context of the track, the soul cry’s out for a handful of rain. It’s so dry, my home averages under 25% humidity during the brutal dry winter.
In fact, I have a fingertip band-aid on right now, with a finger condom, on top, on my right thumb. I can barely use it, and I suspect my pointer finger on another hand is doomed.
As for the song… I first heard it on Head Bangers Ball on MTV, where they did actual music, and I was really impressed. The context spoke to me in 1994, just after I moved to AZ.
Fitting, I know. As time moved on, we got Dead Winter Dead and The Wake of Magellan.
And man, Streets, now that was music. I think that album rivals Operation: Mindcrime in terms of power. These are real prog albums.
Check out the Youtube video for Savatage – A Handful of Rain.
The night is growing dark
From somewhere deep within
It shelters like an ark
That always takes you in
And the mind goes numb
Until it’s feeling no pain
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rainWash your women
In your whiskey
When your future’s
In the past
And you’re staring
Up at heaven
From the bottom
Of a glass
And you need some insulation
From the years you’ve had and lost
And you feel the perspiration
As you’re adding up the costAnd the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries outThere’s a land beyond the living
There’s a land beyond the dead
If it’s true that God’s forgiving
Of the lives that we had led
In the distance there’s a thunder
And the air is thick and warm
And the patrons watch with wonder
The approaching of the stormAnd the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rainThere’s an old man in the corner
And he’s smoking all the time
And the smoke is drifting upward and it’s
Twisting in my
Twisting in my mindMy mind
The whiskey’s getting deeper
And I use it like a moat
There’s a blues man in the distance and he’s
Lost inside his noteHis note
His noteThe night is growing dark
From somewhere deep within
It shelters like an ark
That always takes you in
And the night rolls on
Like a slow moving train
And the soul cries out
For a handful of rain
