Lirik Lagu What Child is This - Trans-Siberian Orchestra
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NARRATION
The old man stood there thinkingwhile staring in that old toy shopwith its carousel still turning roundin front of a music box clock
for what good’s a clock without a chimea useless thing that just keeps timerecording moments that come and leavebut this clock’s chimes struck midnightupon a lost christmas eve
and when the final chime had spokenand the twelfth bell had finally rungthe indecision in the father was brokenhe now knew what had to be done
so he got into a yellow caband prayed that it might leadthrough all this snow and streetlight glowto a past he might retrieve
when the taxI dropped him offat the boarding house hotelit was a rundown buildingwith a musty, rundown smell
and he asked for his sonfrom the hotel’s night desk clerkwho said his son was not therehe was not back from work
when the father said that was impossiblethe clerk replied, “i’m not here to debatebut he works at the hospital, just down the blockif you want you can sit here and waitbut he never returns till real late”
then the father tried asking another questionbut the clerk went back to watching his tvwhich was also playing, “how the grinch stole christmas”and the father mused, “this movie has no sympathy,well, at least not when it comes down to me”
once outside he saw the hospital’s entranceand went to information by the front doorwho confirmed that his son had a job thereand worked up on the seventh floor
so he took the elevator up to that floorwhich was marked “maternity”and the man knew in his heart that this was a mistakefor his son working here could not be
but the nurse on duty reconfirmed that he didand since her rounds were about to beginif he would like to follow hershe would gladly take the father to him
so he followed her to a large dark roomthat to him seemed unusually emptyexcept for several incubators glowing on the righteach with a trembling baby
these infants were all extremely frailand obviously in incredible painand this sight cut deep into that father’s souland he asked the nurse, please, to explain
“these children were born to motherswho were addicted to crack cocaineand these children are born in complete withdrawalfor that drug is still deep in their veins
we can give them no other drugs to ease their withdrawalssince they are born premature and quite frailand any form of pain killercould easily cause their small hearts to fail”
“and what does my son do here?”the father asked, “he is not a patient, I assume”the nurse did not say a single wordbut nodded to the far left corner of the room
and there the father saw his sonwho looked like himself when he was a younger manrocking back and forth in a rocking chaira trembling infant held in his hands
and in his arms the child did not crybut slept to silent lullabiesand his son rocked that newborn back and forthuntil finally, a dream was caughtbut still at his rocking, his son faithfully kepttill that poor child’s trembling had also, finally, left
then the nurse whispered softlyinto the father’s earsomething that a blind man could seebut the father needed to hear
whispered to him in this roomfilled with mankind’s misbegottensomething that the father had known oncebut somehow had forgotten
she said, “it is this way with each of uswe all need to be held, at least twiceonce upon the day that we are bornand once more when we leave this life
your son has been coming to this placesince as long as i’ve been working herehe’s never missed a single dayin nearly twenty years
he always arrives promptly on timebut a time card he does not keepfor he never leaves this maternity roomuntil every last child is asleep”
then the nurse noticed the fathertrying to choke back the things he now feltso mentioning she had to continue her roundsshe quietly excused herself
so he was now alone in the darknessbetween the past and future caughtnot knowing what to doas his mind flooded with so many thoughts
some beauty comes too earlywhile its moment never waitsand some beauty is always therebut never seen, till it’s too late
look! there is a momentit has just slipped awayand so we lose our livesin such ordinary ways
where do we get our dreams from?where do we get our faith?is it something that we are born withor is it something for which we must wait?
the mist of things we once believedthe childhood truths for which we grieveand in our lives could we have missedthose that in the dark, the angels kiss
WHAT CHILD IS THIS?
What child is thiswho laid to restthat I now find here sleeping?do angels keep the dreams we seekwhile our hearts lie bleeding?
could this be christ the kingwhose every breath the angels bring?could this be the face of god, this child, the son I once carried?
what child is thiswho is so blessed he changes all tomorrows?replacing tears with reborn yearsin hearts once dark and hollow
could this be christ the kingwhose every breath the angels bring?could this be the face of god, this child, the son I once carried?
in the dead of the nightas his life slips awayas he reads by the lightof a star faraway
holding onholding offholding outholding in
could you be this oldand have your life just begin?
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas day
tell me how many times can this story be toldafter all of these years it should all sound so oldbut it somehow rings true in the back of my mindas I search for a dream that words can no longer define
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayand the timereading by the light of a lost christmas day
and the time and the yearsand the tears and the costand the hopes and the dreamsof each child that is lostand the whisper of wingsin the cold winter’s airas the snow it comes downand visions appear everywhere
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayin the airreading by the light of a lost christmas day
in the dead of the nightas his life slips awayas he reads by the lightof a star faraway
holding onholding offholding outholding in
could you be this oldand have your life just begin
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit begins
The old man stood there thinkingwhile staring in that old toy shopwith its carousel still turning roundin front of a music box clock
for what good’s a clock without a chimea useless thing that just keeps timerecording moments that come and leavebut this clock’s chimes struck midnightupon a lost christmas eve
and when the final chime had spokenand the twelfth bell had finally rungthe indecision in the father was brokenhe now knew what had to be done
so he got into a yellow caband prayed that it might leadthrough all this snow and streetlight glowto a past he might retrieve
when the taxI dropped him offat the boarding house hotelit was a rundown buildingwith a musty, rundown smell
and he asked for his sonfrom the hotel’s night desk clerkwho said his son was not therehe was not back from work
when the father said that was impossiblethe clerk replied, “i’m not here to debatebut he works at the hospital, just down the blockif you want you can sit here and waitbut he never returns till real late”
then the father tried asking another questionbut the clerk went back to watching his tvwhich was also playing, “how the grinch stole christmas”and the father mused, “this movie has no sympathy,well, at least not when it comes down to me”
once outside he saw the hospital’s entranceand went to information by the front doorwho confirmed that his son had a job thereand worked up on the seventh floor
so he took the elevator up to that floorwhich was marked “maternity”and the man knew in his heart that this was a mistakefor his son working here could not be
but the nurse on duty reconfirmed that he didand since her rounds were about to beginif he would like to follow hershe would gladly take the father to him
so he followed her to a large dark roomthat to him seemed unusually emptyexcept for several incubators glowing on the righteach with a trembling baby
these infants were all extremely frailand obviously in incredible painand this sight cut deep into that father’s souland he asked the nurse, please, to explain
“these children were born to motherswho were addicted to crack cocaineand these children are born in complete withdrawalfor that drug is still deep in their veins
we can give them no other drugs to ease their withdrawalssince they are born premature and quite frailand any form of pain killercould easily cause their small hearts to fail”
“and what does my son do here?”the father asked, “he is not a patient, I assume”the nurse did not say a single wordbut nodded to the far left corner of the room
and there the father saw his sonwho looked like himself when he was a younger manrocking back and forth in a rocking chaira trembling infant held in his hands
and in his arms the child did not crybut slept to silent lullabiesand his son rocked that newborn back and forthuntil finally, a dream was caughtbut still at his rocking, his son faithfully kepttill that poor child’s trembling had also, finally, left
then the nurse whispered softlyinto the father’s earsomething that a blind man could seebut the father needed to hear
whispered to him in this roomfilled with mankind’s misbegottensomething that the father had known oncebut somehow had forgotten
she said, “it is this way with each of uswe all need to be held, at least twiceonce upon the day that we are bornand once more when we leave this life
your son has been coming to this placesince as long as i’ve been working herehe’s never missed a single dayin nearly twenty years
he always arrives promptly on timebut a time card he does not keepfor he never leaves this maternity roomuntil every last child is asleep”
then the nurse noticed the fathertrying to choke back the things he now feltso mentioning she had to continue her roundsshe quietly excused herself
so he was now alone in the darknessbetween the past and future caughtnot knowing what to doas his mind flooded with so many thoughts
some beauty comes too earlywhile its moment never waitsand some beauty is always therebut never seen, till it’s too late
look! there is a momentit has just slipped awayand so we lose our livesin such ordinary ways
where do we get our dreams from?where do we get our faith?is it something that we are born withor is it something for which we must wait?
the mist of things we once believedthe childhood truths for which we grieveand in our lives could we have missedthose that in the dark, the angels kiss
WHAT CHILD IS THIS?
What child is thiswho laid to restthat I now find here sleeping?do angels keep the dreams we seekwhile our hearts lie bleeding?
could this be christ the kingwhose every breath the angels bring?could this be the face of god, this child, the son I once carried?
what child is thiswho is so blessed he changes all tomorrows?replacing tears with reborn yearsin hearts once dark and hollow
could this be christ the kingwhose every breath the angels bring?could this be the face of god, this child, the son I once carried?
in the dead of the nightas his life slips awayas he reads by the lightof a star faraway
holding onholding offholding outholding in
could you be this oldand have your life just begin?
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas day
tell me how many times can this story be toldafter all of these years it should all sound so oldbut it somehow rings true in the back of my mindas I search for a dream that words can no longer define
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayand the timereading by the light of a lost christmas day
and the time and the yearsand the tears and the costand the hopes and the dreamsof each child that is lostand the whisper of wingsin the cold winter’s airas the snow it comes downand visions appear everywhere
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayin the airreading by the light of a lost christmas day
in the dead of the nightas his life slips awayas he reads by the lightof a star faraway
holding onholding offholding outholding in
could you be this oldand have your life just begin
reading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit beginsreading by the light of a lost christmas dayit begins
