Boy, is travel a whirl of excitement, then panic, then utter breakdowns of stress, then excitement again! The last few days have been spent in either sheer panic and complete despair that nothing will be ready and blissful, relaxed forgetfulness. At one moment I'm checking and double-checking everything, and another I'm browsing my favorite websites and watching television. What's wrong with me? I can't seem to balance these extremes.
It happens every time I travel, but this time, it's even worse. Why? Instead of a flight to Houston or a trip to Wisconsin, I've landed myself on two consecutive trips overseas--one over the Pacific, and the other over the Atlantic.
Okay, so technically they're the same landmass--let's not get picky. It's a big deal for me--I've been out of the country (thank God I have some experience with non-American culture), but never this far, and never this long. This spring, I'm going to East-Southeastern Asia for a month, and then to jolly ol' England for four more months. I get sixteen hours of being home in between flights. I also have no idea what time to set my clocks. Trust me, there's a reason for my sheer panic during this next week.
In Asia, I am touring Guangzhou, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Manila with one of my college's top choral ensembles: Capella. In the group of about 40 strong, I am a second soprano, and we (as a choir) have an intimidating repertoire. This experience is one of a lifetime to debut us internationally as a talented non-professional choir.
Immediately following this trip (that is to say, sixteen hours after my return from Asia), I head out to Britain for the rest of the semester, pursuing numerous traveling opportunities and saving up for our Spring Break, when we are let loose in London to find our ways back to York in three weeks' time. Of course, there's classes as well (that's what I'm there for, really!). I am currently enrolled for Phonetics, Creative Writing, and a sociology and history course both involving a study of the Olympics and Britain and sports. We have, rather unfortunately, arranged this trip under the Kinesiology department, due to the preparations for the Olympics in England for 2012, but thankfully, only a few of our class excursions are very sports-oriented. We do have several previously planned excursions to historic English sites such as Alnwyk Castle, a Manchester United match, and Edinburgh. Needless to say, I am tremendously excited.
I have prepared this blog (rather obviously) in an attempt to keep my friends and family updated--I will be posting photos, and as many descriptions of my journeys as possible. Unfortunately, I will not have my laptop in Asia, which means I will not be able to post very much very often, but I will do my best to keep in touch.
I based the name of this blog on a particular quote by Mark Twain. It's a rather popular one, so I'm sure you'll have heard it before, but it goes something like this: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." I decided it's about time I catch the trade winds in my sails.
I'm young, I'm versatile, I'm ready to explore this incredible world, achieve and revise my dreams, and discover things about myself, others, and this fascinating universe.
It's my time for catching the trade winds.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Dear Gavin, Rest in Peace
Dear Gavin,
Today I discovered third-hand that you were dead.
My mother had no more information that that; just that you were dead. I remembered you were in the Navy and you were so, so proud. I remembered last time I saw you, I congratulated you, and then I avoided you.
We were never good friends, and I know people were often impatient with you, myself included. You were mocked, you were disliked, and you were downright hated.
My only hope is that you knew, at some point, that you were also loved, liked, and appreciated. I hope that you knew God and that God knew you. I hope you’re with Him, rejoicing in what you always were: a child of God.
I wish people had treated you better, myself included, and shown you what we ought to be showing every person we encounter. I hope you knew that some of us really were proud of you for getting into the Navy, and proud of you for staying there. I hope you knew, even if only very, very briefly.
I wish I had the chance to say I’m sorry: I’m sorry I didn’t treat you better, I’m sorry I got impatient with you often, I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie to fit in, I’m sorry you even wanted to fit in. I’m sorry your family struggled, I’m sorry God was hard for you to find at our church, I’m sorry we weren’t prouder of you, I’m sorry we didn’t show you that we loved you. I'm sorry I didn't take the time to know you better as a friend and equal. I’m sorry.
And I hope, finally, that you’re resting in that peace that some of us never really quite understood.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wings of Wax
We will not wait for the
experts to
explain to us what it means
to be excellent.
We will not wait for our
parents and professors to
give us permission
to spread our wings.
We are the young;
like every good thing,
we leave,
we thrive;
we love,
we lose,
and with freedom weighing us down,
we drown in our own
miry individuality,
calling on
someone
to grasp our hand
and guide our way:
someone,
anyone,
but them.
experts to
explain to us what it means
to be excellent.
We will not wait for our
parents and professors to
give us permission
to spread our wings.
We are the young;
like every good thing,
we leave,
we thrive;
we love,
we lose,
and with freedom weighing us down,
we drown in our own
miry individuality,
calling on
someone
to grasp our hand
and guide our way:
someone,
anyone,
but them.
Charis Medendorp (2011)
I wrote this while sending an email to myself (which I do a lot). I found it today when I wondered what this one unread email could be. Strange, how you lose things.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Eb
The seven seas stared back at me
from within their ivory frame,
and the ocean’s roar
whispered its chords
from deep within its chest.
As my fingertips stroked
the delicate blades
that can slice the heart
of any man,
I recognized the key
to my own heart;
without a thought,
I opened the lock,
swallowed whole by
the seven seas,
the rolling waves
of ivory keys.
Charis Medendorp (2011)
Monday, May 30, 2011
Growing Pains
Dear God,
This must be what it feels like to grow up, huh. You spend your weeks working nine to five days, get home, eat, sleep, and do it all again. On weekends, you spend one day in total relaxation—if you can call making lists of everything you need to do in the next week “total relaxation.” The other day, you go to church, get taught some moral lesson that you’d forgotten (again), and spend the rest of the day forgetting about it.
Then you start over.
It’s right about now that you realize that life’s probably never going to be as cracked up as the movies make it seem, unless it’s the ones that you call “bad” because it’s just too close to reality for comfort—that there’s probably not going to be a fairy-tale love story waiting in the wings of your future—that maybe there’s a lot of your dreams that will never be fulfilled, or worse, that your dreams weren’t really what you wanted.
And it’s right about now that you start to feel utterly lost. It’s terrifying, growing up. It’s all you ever wanted when you were younger, but now that it’s approaching, you’re turning tail and trying to run in the other direction. Some actually manage to flee—they’re the ones you look at and wonder, “when are they ever going to grow up?” They won’t. That’s the point. Others pretend to have a handle on the situation, when really, they’re hiding the same childlike fear you are
There aren’t a lot of choices in this situation. Either you run, or you face it—either way, you pray to God that He has a plan, because you sure don’t.
It’s so tremendously overwhelming, growing up. All of the sudden you’re worrying about everything. Everything. And sometimes you go to your mom’s house and you’re sitting in your bedroom thinking about the idea of growing up, and the thought is so big and so frightening that there’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry and you haven’t the slightest reason for it.
Well, it’s because you’re afraid.
Because I am afraid.
Love.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Awing
I followed a raindrop
From a thousand feet high
hurtling toward the
solid gray pavement
with a velocity
and speed
that frightened me.
Closer,
closer,
the pavement
drew closer;
I could see the small shapes
in small rocks,
pebbles,
barely even
rocks.
I could see
the glittering mica,
glistening with the shattering raindrop wetness.
My raindrop shattered, too,
and with its demise,
I opened my wings
like parachutes,
fwooosh,
and felt even more shattering raindrops of my feathers, dancing lightly
on the fibres of my wings,
and I reached for the ground,
alighting softly upon the pavement,
my hair drenched,
my wings spread,
and my heart racing.
I opened my eyes
to the darkness,
listening to the rainfall,
and my heart
longed
for wings.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Traveling the World
Idea #1:
-Print off an uncolored world map like the previous. Make sure you have big paper.
-Start coloring in the places you've been. Feel free to color code it somehow, like by year, or you can just follow the color code of whatever world maps have so none of the colors touch. It's up to you.
-Every time you visit another country, color it in.
-My goal is to have at least one country per continent...excluding Antarctica. I'm not big on frozen wastelands.
As soon as I find the right piece of paper, I'm going to begin my traveling record.
Enjoy!
Friday, April 29, 2011
Let Evening Come [Adapted from Jane Kenyon]
Let Evening Come
[Adapted from Jane Kenyon]
[Warzone]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine off barrels of guns, moving
up the trenches as the sun moves down.
Let the radio take up crooning
as a soldier takes up his MRE
and his letters. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the mine abandoned
in tough weeds. Let the clouds appear
and the moon hide her silver horn.
Let the lizard go back to its dusty hole.
Let the wind pick up. Let the hut
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the body in the ditch, to the shovel
in the grave, to air still in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
[Church]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through stained glass windows, moving
up the pews as the sun moves down.
Let the sparrows give up chirping
as a priest takes up his Bible
and his prayers. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the grave abandoned
in the long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the mouse go back to its dusty hole.
Let the light die down. Let the confessional
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the rosary in the yard, to the candle
on the altar, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
[Forest]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through weave in the tent, moving
up the pines as the sun moves down.
Let the bullfrog take up croaking
as a camper takes up his shovel
and his tin. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the bottle abandoned
in tangled brush. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the bear go back to its earthy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the hollow
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the log over the river, to the match
in the dirt, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
[Adapted from Jane Kenyon]
[Warzone]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine off barrels of guns, moving
up the trenches as the sun moves down.
Let the radio take up crooning
as a soldier takes up his MRE
and his letters. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the mine abandoned
in tough weeds. Let the clouds appear
and the moon hide her silver horn.
Let the lizard go back to its dusty hole.
Let the wind pick up. Let the hut
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the body in the ditch, to the shovel
in the grave, to air still in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
[Church]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through stained glass windows, moving
up the pews as the sun moves down.
Let the sparrows give up chirping
as a priest takes up his Bible
and his prayers. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the grave abandoned
in the long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the mouse go back to its dusty hole.
Let the light die down. Let the confessional
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the rosary in the yard, to the candle
on the altar, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
[Forest]
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through weave in the tent, moving
up the pines as the sun moves down.
Let the bullfrog take up croaking
as a camper takes up his shovel
and his tin. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the bottle abandoned
in tangled brush. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the bear go back to its earthy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the hollow
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the log over the river, to the match
in the dirt, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
Monday, April 25, 2011
We Will Not Wait
The future's hurtling toward us like a freight train,
And here we are just waiting for it to hit.
We're not running scared,
We're not even watching;
We're just waiting.
Why?
Our future is not set in stone,
Our future is not made of steel.
Our future is gold--it's manipulable,
Malleable,
Changeable.
Our future is what we want it to be.
So why are we waiting?
We are the Young;
Already our future has changed,
Shifted from one plan to another.
And when the change turned to a downpour of changes,
We gave up that freight train,
and with our Midas Touch
Turned our future into gold.
Shapeable.
Malleable.
Changeable.
This is our future.
We will not wait.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Crocodile Tears
Apparently I had written this weeks ago during my History of the English Language course and left it in my book with something entirely different written on the other side.
The sway of palm trees,
palm leaves
in the cool, cool night
The sphinx begs a riddle,
unanswerable,
but the answer is in the wind,
as unharnessable as
a cloud.
And down by the river,
the crocodile weeps
with scaly tears,
and salty fears
which come with the rain
and irrigate the earth.
And 'nothing' is the answer
to the sphinx's riddle
(but) the wind makes
the palm trees sway,
and the crocodile tears
in the quiet midnight
are more heart-wrenching
than dry, human eyes.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Pray Without Ceasing
Yesterday, in one of my devotional books, I read a piece which declared prayerlessness to be a sin. Initially, I wasn't all that surprised. Total lack of communication with God? I suppose at some level it could be labeled a sin. What took me by surprise was the fact that the author went on to declare that anything less than ceaseless prayer is a sin.
'A sin?' I thought. 'Surely not a sin.'
It's an interesting perspective, though. It gave me pause. Is anything less than ceaseless prayer really a sin? By not being in absolutely constant communion with God, am I actually leading a lifestyle of sin?
I doubted at first, of course, because it's so drastic. How could it be sinful to have a few moments when God isn't at the forefront of my mind? That question really did give me pause. I began to wonder if, perhaps, I was writing off the author's dramatic declaration simply because it wasn't the feel-good devotional I wanted. This challenged me.
There has only been one time in my life in which I was even close to ceaseless prayer. My first two years of high-school, I probably thought of myself the least, because I wasn't as pretty as I'd have liked to be, and I wasn't popular or particularly amazing at sports, or academics, or anything, really. I spent that year with a lot of focus on my relationship with God and on my own behavior as a Christian going to a Christian school where most of the students played a lot of the church games they always do as adolescents in the church. I remember sitting in a chapel session that was focused on that idea of praying without ceasing.
Whoa. It wasn't a novel idea, really, but the fact was that I had never heard it put in such plain terms before. Ceaseless prayer? It's just talking to God about anything and everything that happens during the day. You see a random person. You pray for them. Just a quick prayer, nothing special or wordy or eloquent. Something like, "God, whatever that person struggles with, be in the midst of their life today." Or if you see something particularly beautiful, thank God for it.
I started to try it, that very same day.
It took practice, of course. I was constantly having to remind myself that I should be praying. I prayed for the people around me, and I prayed for people I thought of, and I thanked God for whatever I saw that I thought was good or pleasing, and I went about my day. It was hard, though, if I was upset or angry.
After a while, it got easier. Even when upset, I prayed for whomever I was upset with, or I prayed kind of like David--you know, the "rescue me, God" and "You are my stronghold, I take shelter under your wings."
I think, to be honest, while nothing much really happened during those years, I remember them as some of the times I was most joyful.
It's been a long time since then. I've tried a few times to get back in the habit, but that hasn't really been cutting it. If I want to try ceaseless prayer, I'm going to have to be very, very intentional about it.
But back to the beginning. Is a life without ceaseless prayer really sinful? It's a strange thing to simply call the absence of lack of continual communication with God a sin, but I'm starting to see his point. Without constant communication with God, it's that much more difficult to know God's will. It makes sense to me that if we aren't in constant contact with God in some shape or form, then, essentially, we are sinful. I know in my experience that knowing the right thing to do isn't easy. During those few years in which I tried to engage in ceaseless prayer, though, I remember it just wasn't difficult. The right thing always seemed crystal clear. I was spending my arguments praying for the other person, rather than trying to figure out how to win the argument. I was much more easily able to put down my pride and admit being wrong than ever before (which, if you know me, is probably one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn).
Basically, when I'm not talking to God, I sin a lot. When I am talking to God, I sin less.
Granted, I'll always mess up (I know I'm not perfect in any stretch of the imagination), but that doesn't change the viewpoint. It's almost like being physically lighter, more buoyant--as if gravity has a little bit less of a hold on you as it does everyone else. Probably because it does.
'A sin?' I thought. 'Surely not a sin.'
It's an interesting perspective, though. It gave me pause. Is anything less than ceaseless prayer really a sin? By not being in absolutely constant communion with God, am I actually leading a lifestyle of sin?
I doubted at first, of course, because it's so drastic. How could it be sinful to have a few moments when God isn't at the forefront of my mind? That question really did give me pause. I began to wonder if, perhaps, I was writing off the author's dramatic declaration simply because it wasn't the feel-good devotional I wanted. This challenged me.
There has only been one time in my life in which I was even close to ceaseless prayer. My first two years of high-school, I probably thought of myself the least, because I wasn't as pretty as I'd have liked to be, and I wasn't popular or particularly amazing at sports, or academics, or anything, really. I spent that year with a lot of focus on my relationship with God and on my own behavior as a Christian going to a Christian school where most of the students played a lot of the church games they always do as adolescents in the church. I remember sitting in a chapel session that was focused on that idea of praying without ceasing.
Whoa. It wasn't a novel idea, really, but the fact was that I had never heard it put in such plain terms before. Ceaseless prayer? It's just talking to God about anything and everything that happens during the day. You see a random person. You pray for them. Just a quick prayer, nothing special or wordy or eloquent. Something like, "God, whatever that person struggles with, be in the midst of their life today." Or if you see something particularly beautiful, thank God for it.
I started to try it, that very same day.
It took practice, of course. I was constantly having to remind myself that I should be praying. I prayed for the people around me, and I prayed for people I thought of, and I thanked God for whatever I saw that I thought was good or pleasing, and I went about my day. It was hard, though, if I was upset or angry.
After a while, it got easier. Even when upset, I prayed for whomever I was upset with, or I prayed kind of like David--you know, the "rescue me, God" and "You are my stronghold, I take shelter under your wings."
I think, to be honest, while nothing much really happened during those years, I remember them as some of the times I was most joyful.
It's been a long time since then. I've tried a few times to get back in the habit, but that hasn't really been cutting it. If I want to try ceaseless prayer, I'm going to have to be very, very intentional about it.
But back to the beginning. Is a life without ceaseless prayer really sinful? It's a strange thing to simply call the absence of lack of continual communication with God a sin, but I'm starting to see his point. Without constant communication with God, it's that much more difficult to know God's will. It makes sense to me that if we aren't in constant contact with God in some shape or form, then, essentially, we are sinful. I know in my experience that knowing the right thing to do isn't easy. During those few years in which I tried to engage in ceaseless prayer, though, I remember it just wasn't difficult. The right thing always seemed crystal clear. I was spending my arguments praying for the other person, rather than trying to figure out how to win the argument. I was much more easily able to put down my pride and admit being wrong than ever before (which, if you know me, is probably one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn).
Basically, when I'm not talking to God, I sin a lot. When I am talking to God, I sin less.
Granted, I'll always mess up (I know I'm not perfect in any stretch of the imagination), but that doesn't change the viewpoint. It's almost like being physically lighter, more buoyant--as if gravity has a little bit less of a hold on you as it does everyone else. Probably because it does.
The Will
Well, I bought Death with some candy and a cane,
and he wrapped me in swaddling clothes and gave me a new name.
Then the waters above came crashing down,
and the birds didn't sing, but made a lot of sound
and the axis turned, and the world went 'round
til the sky bled, and God said,
"let your will be done"
Let it come.
and he wrapped me in swaddling clothes and gave me a new name.
Then the waters above came crashing down,
and the birds didn't sing, but made a lot of sound
and the axis turned, and the world went 'round
til the sky bled, and God said,
"let your will be done"
Let it come.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Untitled Song
V1
What is stopping me now
Nothing is standing in my way
If only I knew how
To get up from the floor on which I lay
There's no more tears,
I shed those long ago
I've only fears
to stop my dreams today
Chorus
And these words I write
are nothing more than
the beginnings of a song
trying to convey
some emotion inside.
And these notes are all I have
to make things right
If only I knew what was right.
V2
As I'm standing by the waves
waiting for whispers in the wind
Whispers in the wind.
(asking)
"Where is God in all this mess,
where is my God,
where is my God?"
Chorus
And these words I write
are nothing more than
the beginnings of a song
trying to convey
some emotion inside.
And these notes are all I have
to make things right
If only I knew what was right,
if only I knew what was right.
Repeat verse 1 and chorus
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The Important Things
There are lots of important things in life, I think. Things as simple as knowing who you are, or hanging with the right crowd are vitally important. Things as complex as relationships and doing the right thing are also very important. The future, who you want to be, what you can do to become better, what graduate school you go to, where you want to live, what you believe, what values you have, how you deal with things, whether or not you let things go,how you view your mistakes, how you view things that aren't mistakes, but you don't know what category to put them in...all these things are important. Almost everything is important in life.
Which is why even the simple act of giving up is important. There is a time for everything under the sun, Ecclesiastes says, and this is the time for giving up. Not on everything. Just one thing. It's something that I've been holding on to, and have had a lot of trouble letting go. Some of you will be able to guess. Some of you will not. But in the area of letting go--let's just say I've always had trouble with it.
But this letting go, this giving up...it is important. It's nice to finally be able to feel as though it no longer has a hold on me. Previously, I would be worried about losing something--well, that something was already lost, and I was mourning its loss. Now, it's time to begin a new chapter.
I am more alive and focused on the important things in my life than I have been for a long time. I am able to pour myself into what I do every day, whether that be writing, spending time with friends and family, sorting out my thoughts, looking for a job, spending time with God, or just taking a break. I've let go. And it's a very freeing thing.
There's nothing new that I've learned from this. There's nothing that's really changed. That's what makes this all so curious--there's nothing to be gained or lost from this. It's simply the passing of time, the decision to change focus.
God has a plan for me, and I'd prefer to focus on making it possible for some of those plans to show up.
Which is why even the simple act of giving up is important. There is a time for everything under the sun, Ecclesiastes says, and this is the time for giving up. Not on everything. Just one thing. It's something that I've been holding on to, and have had a lot of trouble letting go. Some of you will be able to guess. Some of you will not. But in the area of letting go--let's just say I've always had trouble with it.
But this letting go, this giving up...it is important. It's nice to finally be able to feel as though it no longer has a hold on me. Previously, I would be worried about losing something--well, that something was already lost, and I was mourning its loss. Now, it's time to begin a new chapter.
I am more alive and focused on the important things in my life than I have been for a long time. I am able to pour myself into what I do every day, whether that be writing, spending time with friends and family, sorting out my thoughts, looking for a job, spending time with God, or just taking a break. I've let go. And it's a very freeing thing.
There's nothing new that I've learned from this. There's nothing that's really changed. That's what makes this all so curious--there's nothing to be gained or lost from this. It's simply the passing of time, the decision to change focus.
God has a plan for me, and I'd prefer to focus on making it possible for some of those plans to show up.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Sanitation
Wash your hands with extra soap
before you say what you mean.
If it needs to be said,
write it down, before
what hasn’t been said
overtakes it.
There are three rules to letting go:
cut strings, say things,
and follow the stages of grief.
There are no rules to
doing things right—
the church, the city,
the family forms
the structure of
“right” and “wrong”;
but there are no rules.
Nothing means anything
anymore,
but what isn’t being said
means everything
and changes nothing.
If your hands are dirty,
sanitize, and
leave no evidence
when you go.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
My Old Heart
I had an old heart before
it had a chance to be young;
I knew before it happened
what it felt like
to look down the barrel of a gun,
the trigger clenched
by the hands of a ticking clock,
and when the shot rang out,
I saw my young heart bleed out
with my old, old eyes
and watched my young heart
die,
and mourning for it,
I spend my time
avoiding what it remembered
terrified to forget.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Our Intertwined Hands
Winter is coming on fast;
we fall facedown in the snow,
feel the cold and the warmth
of our intertwined hands.
Gloves blocking your touch,
and we feel the rush
as time flies by,
as time flies by.
And the chill in my heart
isn't caused by the wind,
taking risks on one end
and none for our sakes.
As it slips from our hands,
and we understand,
our time runs out,
our time runs out.
And as we say goodbye,
the tears spring from our eyes,
but we're careful to leave
no stains on our shirts.
As 'we' turns to the past,
'we' beg the moment to last
as we kiss goodbye,
as we kiss goodbye.
Separation is cold
like the white winter snow;
it refuses to cease
(and) Spring is obsolete.
We put our heads in our hands
as ice covers the land;
lie facedown in the snow,
facedown in the snow.
And finally the earth begins to cry
with warmth and tears to break the heart of ice.
With our tentative first steps we look around
and fall facedown,
we fall facedown,
facedown.
(and pray)
I write you a letter or two
with my bare left hand.
Though our future is gone
I can still feel the warmth
of our intertwined hands
and of you in my plans;
don't tell me goodbye,
don't say goodbye.
Springtime is coming again,
and you're smiling, my friend.
My heart's on my sleeve;
don't tell me to leave.
And when these lyrics are done,
we'll salute the sun,
our hands intertwined,
our hands intertwined.
we fall facedown in the snow,
feel the cold and the warmth
of our intertwined hands.
Gloves blocking your touch,
and we feel the rush
as time flies by,
as time flies by.
And the chill in my heart
isn't caused by the wind,
taking risks on one end
and none for our sakes.
As it slips from our hands,
and we understand,
our time runs out,
our time runs out.
And as we say goodbye,
the tears spring from our eyes,
but we're careful to leave
no stains on our shirts.
As 'we' turns to the past,
'we' beg the moment to last
as we kiss goodbye,
as we kiss goodbye.
Separation is cold
like the white winter snow;
it refuses to cease
(and) Spring is obsolete.
We put our heads in our hands
as ice covers the land;
lie facedown in the snow,
facedown in the snow.
And finally the earth begins to cry
with warmth and tears to break the heart of ice.
With our tentative first steps we look around
and fall facedown,
we fall facedown,
facedown.
(and pray)
I write you a letter or two
with my bare left hand.
Though our future is gone
I can still feel the warmth
of our intertwined hands
and of you in my plans;
don't tell me goodbye,
don't say goodbye.
Springtime is coming again,
and you're smiling, my friend.
My heart's on my sleeve;
don't tell me to leave.
And when these lyrics are done,
we'll salute the sun,
our hands intertwined,
our hands intertwined.
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