For All The Cynics

I think if life exists, it's probably like this. I had a common goal; I caught a common cold. I said, "When I get healthy, I won't take it for granted." And I really thought that I meant it, but I knew when I got better that I'd probably forget it. Feeling fine wasn't worth a mention, so I didn't pay attention. And it seems that's just the way. It's all easier said than done, and it's not even easy to say. And when I get back home, I'll see what's left before I'd gone. A thousand sheets of paper, I'll see what they are later. And then I've gotta roam, and back and forth I've flown. Well, it's hard to get too bored when you pick the right two chords. And you keep on strumming as if you don't know what's coming. Now, I don't have a boyfriend and I wish I was more happy. Now, I have a boyfriend and I wish I was more happy. Now, I  have two boyfriends and I wish I was more happy. Now, I have four boyfriends and I wish I was more happy. And when I'm in an airplane, I close my eyes and pretend that it's a rocked pointed straight down, shooting at the earth again. Now, I am more happy and I wish I was more happy, if I was a little smarter, if I worked a little harder. But emotions in the brain, they'll always be the same. It's just chemicals and blob. And what you've got is what you've got. And you just apply it to whatever's passing by it. Just like a guitar pick that I could not keep in my grip, it's like all the love I lose because I could never fill the shoes. But it's just because I have no feet. And then I think every minute of every day that I have a choice to wish things could be better or be glad things aren't worse. And maybe every minute of every day we have the choice to say, "Things could be better," or to say, "Things could be worse."