The saint is coming

So still and quiet I lay

And wait for you

To come and play

The game you know so well

And practice every day.

We didn’t play it together

And we prayed not do it, never!

Your mouth gives me a lot of air,

But my body and lungs are in despair.

I watch it from high above

And think you’ll fail

And I would become a dove…

You try and try

And hope I’ll give a sign

Asking yourself why…

Why did it happen?

Why do we have to cry?

Your mates are coming since

And help you end the game,

But no one knows who wins!

Suddenly I open up my eyes

And I see you crying,

And then I realize

The game we were playing

Has saved a hundred lives…

…including mine…

Luck

we blame the "environment" or the "world"...the sun will not light our cigars...perhaps, if we are clever enough to help it, the sun will even do that and this vast neutral cosmos may turn out to be a pleasant place enough if we bring a little sunshine of our own to help it out.

in truth, the world is neither with us or against us...it is but raw material in our hands, and can be heaven or hell according to what we are.