Every once in a while a thought will creep in.
I ask if my happiness is one of my sins.
Is my contentment wrong to feel,
My comfort too great to make myself real?
Is there sin in the joy that I find in my life,
In the fact that my days have been lacking of strife?
Is that glee and that rapture what makes me so low?
Am I really so base that I still do not know?
Every once in a while a thought will creep in,
That in struggling times is where goodness begins,
That the sufferers of life are much better than I
Who have so little boundaries outside of the sky.
The goodness of pain, and of the broken hearted,
The righteousness of those so sadly departed.
Is it those who have suffered and known little glee,
That are better, and wiser, so much luckier than me?