Pad across the frigid tile In your bare feet and run a glass of water The lit up numbers on the microwave Say it's still Christmas Eve for twenty minutes longer A week back home in Idaho Amid cousins' faces, strange and yet familiar And drinks, and games, and films that end the same old ways It's all as it was, but there's no way to account for The time that passed through everyone Too wearisome to name, or chart, or sum The hopes and fears of all the years Chasing a clarity that never seems to come Is it just hold on Until the end Hold, hold on Until the end Pad downstairs to the double bed Where your cousin is already softly sleeping And pull the covers up around your head And shake, and stare up at the ceiling And hold on Until the end Hold, hold on Until the end