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Rise up now, my darling |
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Pull this poncho off you |
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Trade it for what is in my trembling hand |
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Throw it on |
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Now we bear the colors |
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Of the life eternal |
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Here on our sweatshirts they are gold and tan |
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Peach and grey |
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I hear sung the song of birds |
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The notes of thrush and wren |
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And all things are sighing out |
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From burrow, nest, and den |
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Sever the silver cord |
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And break the golden bowl |
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And let us return to dust |
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And be at last made whole |
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Steal away forever |
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Dance alone and darkly |
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Learn things forgotten |
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Things that you missed, ways to move |
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No more - no more talk of where or when |
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No more - no feelings of vague rapport |
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No more - no leaning with outstretched arms |
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No more - no bells on your shoes or sleaves, |
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Neck or hair |
|
And all the colors are gold and tan |
|
And they are peach and grey |
|
And they are gold and tan and peach and grey |
