R.E.M.'s "You Are Everything." I think my roommate still has the mp3 of me, singing incorrect lyrics to this song, on her hard drive.
here's the scene: you stand in a large enclosed grassy yard, over powered by tall trees which are evidently very old and almost bent with age and tiredness. the sun is setting, hitting you full in the face with orange light. the bricks on the house behind you are rosy and remind you of canyon wall colors; meanwhile butterflies land on your sleeves. clouds pass over the sun occasionally, saving you from the full glare and showing you a multi colored sky--pale blue, almost white, shebert orange, soft florida pinks, the colors of crying.
here's the scene: you stand in a large enclosed grassy yard over powered by tall trees which are evidently very old and almost bent with age and tiredness. the stars are strong and the moon is new. there are few shadows from the streetlights, too far spaced from the yard to cause any damage. you lie down and look above yourself at the undersides of tree leaves, into the small lights. a warm wind blows; there are no crickets yet, but fireflies soundlessly pass in the breeze.
here's the scene: later in the month you stand in a large enclosed grassy yard over powered by tall trees which are evidently very old and almost bent with age and tiredness. the moon is full. a white light ashens the grass and dulls the stars, casting a sharp rooftop shadow on the lawn. you lie down and look above yourself at the moon; it is too bright to look further up at the trees. the brightness is overwhelming and arresting.
here's the scene: you stand in a field, just outside town. the sun is coming up at last. you've been in the back seat of a car, huddled up in clothing, watching the sky get greyer and greyer in dread of the coming day. the sun should never rise eventually, but come out at once in full glory. the eventual decision to rise should be left only to the dying sun, not to the irresolute wench, aurora.
the sun finally appears. too bad that you have fallen asleep.
it's just not the same--waiting for something to begin as for something to end.