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