Brews

Above Pete's head, as he fumbles with his key The clouds get dark, start brawling War games, ancient faces, pushing eachother around The sky's changing A foaming storm is coming A howling mist, a growling downpour Pete don't see it Pete's too busy tryna make his key fit, he can't quite get it right Now, in their rooms Alisha, and Esther, and Gemma Are too concerned with their own thoughts to think about the weather But we see clouds like furious ink Thick liquid sinks and whips the wind Pitch shifted rumble screams from a swolen grin There's a big storm rolling in