Where have all my friends gone:
Janice Joplin, Jim Morrison,
Jimi Hendrix, Hank Williams.
Their nights came too early.
We never know when our night will come,
But surely it must.
How do we live our days?
Do we look at the past, present, or future?
Do we count the seconds, the minutes?
The heart beats without our permission.
The heart stops without our permission.
Many times we take the morning for granted,
The sun, the moon, the stars.
When we see a rose do we smile?
What about a snowflake in its geometrical
perfection?
What about the woman crossing the street,
Or the man watering the lawn?
Do we consider these things?
Are they miracles brought by God?
The newborn is a miracle.
Is death a miracle, too?
War takes the soul,
Peace makes the soul.
And when do we pray?
Before the curse or after?
Sing, sing, sing.
Whether you have the voice or not,
Sing.
The music will come
Like the summer fades to fall, fades to winter.
Listen, hear the song of life.
It can be subtle, but it’s there.
Will we bend but not break
Under life’s earthquake?
Or will we shatter into shambles?
All I can say is hold your head up high.
We live, we die.
And in between is the miracle.
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