let lemons be angry

i don't want to wonder if this is a blunder
i don't want to worry whether we're going to stay together till we die
i don't want to jump in unless this music's thumpin
all the dishes rattle in the cupboard when the elephants arrive

and i want to forget, looking at the pouring pouring rain outside and remembering the 20 km walk in the rain. I was wearing a poncho and freezing and my feet were soaking, and we kept walking. We pulled ourselves up endless hills and through puddled fields and across drains and on and on and on, and we kept walking. "We'll be faithful to our calling, for You are able to keep us from falling.. " It occurred to me as we walked that someday i'd face this again, that one day the walk wouldn't be a mere metaphor, that i'd be struggling and wishing i could stop, but i'd have to walk on. And guess what, every time i look back i see it, imaginary hills and drains and lightning skies behind me, and i've made it this far. So i can only walk on. Stopping to think of stopping, stopping to listen to memories claim me as theirs, i can't do that.

i don't want to fake it, i just want to make it
the ornaments look pretty but they're pulling down the branches of the tree

Ornaments. Could it be that it's the ornaments that pull me down? There's a certain feeling i get when i curl up on my couch and pull up the side table to study. An aching to get out, a huge wave of self-pity as i lock myself up behind my books, dreadful loneliness. One couch and too many thoughts attached to it. Too many life-changing moments for one piece of furniture. And there are the little things that i've been insensitive about but really cherish a lot.

It's the littlest things that i'll always remember, like the guitar tinkle at the end of GNR's Don't Cry. And the pen ink, and smells, and the battered metal, and typing mistakes, and jealousy, and flushes, and stripes, and all that. More than i'll remember the Christmas card, or the numerous pigs and girls made out of brackets and dots, or good chocolate, or whatever they put under the tree.

See? It's the ornaments i remember, and they're pulling me down. Here i go, putting my poncho back on, out into the rain again. Because He is able to finish the work He began in us.

(And so, if i should leave this place
don't say you never knew i cared)