You know what's pretty damn beautiful

Every Christmas when I fly home from the Far East 

I fly over the northern rim of the Pacific Ocean 

Carefully over the curve of the Japanese islands 

Above the Emperor Seamounts into the grasp of the Aleutian Trench

And in those few hours before I begin my descent into Seattle

I am above these pure, white ice floes

Sometimes it's still night when I fly in

And I can see sparse patches of lights

They're either Alaskan villages or lighthouses 

Sometimes the dawn has arrived early and

The beautiful white ice floes stand in contrast to the

Deep blue hue of the cold Pacific

But either way, I find peace in these ice floes

Because down there is silence and a pure innocent cold and

I know there isn't any life for miles and miles

Except for my airplane, flying over, taking me home