The time of day is Half-Past Rainy With A Chance Of Hail.

there's a broken king upon his throne
it's cold as death but he knows it's his home
he turns his crown in weathered hands
and lets it fall to the ground
remembering when he saw the sun
when it seemed like The End Of Life had come undone
and happiness would reign forever

while the sterile curtain is drawn
the young husband holds her hand
hoping she will stay by his side
and not lose herself in a foreign land
where the food is odd and possibly diseased
and there are no natives, merely the faithful on bended knee

but the taxicab passes without stopping for me
and the rain trickles down through holes in my umbrella
there's love in the city, but then there's death in the love
from the grey concrete below to a cloudy heaven above
I can see that nobody is interested in electronics at this time and in this weather
the TVs are putting on a private show for the shop manager and themselves