The Season’s Final Colors

In the season's final colors of burgundy and gold,
the sun god bows his head in the heavens high above.
The corn begins to wither and the ground is getting cold.
And I see that I am changing through the phases of your love.
I see that I am changing through the phases of your love.

Through all this brilliant decay.

In the season’s final colors, when the hours are running out,
when the plows have been abandoned and earth begins to grieve
and the tumbleweed is blowing and every heart is full of doubt,
oh please don’t tear my roots up, don’t turn away and leave.
Please don’t tear my roots up, don’t turn away and leave.

Through all this brilliant decay,
through all this brilliant decay.

In the seasons final colors, when the temple gates are locked,
when the widows sing their dirges and the curtains all are drawn,
and they lay my crumbling body in a tomb of jagged rock,
I will follow you forever even when my flesh is gone.
I will follow you forever even when my flesh is gone.

Through all this brilliant decay,
through all this brilliant decay,
what can a man hope to say but Alleluia?

But in the season’s final colors, the ending is the start.
Like Lazarus I’m laughing at this life of blind mans bluff.
Our bodies drift and fade but I have touched the deathless part.
Because I love you. I love you. I love you. And that has been enough.
I love you. I love you. I love you. And that always was enough.
I love you. I love you. I love you. And it will have been enough.

Tam Lin