My job is to write your lucky songs—
The ones that, when you hear them,
Take the lid right off your day,
And remind you all things are possible.
And you know you can sell it,
Find it, fix it, paint it better,
Than anyone else,
And more than that,
Your dreams can come to life.
Let the windows of inspiration
Open up above your head.
Lift up your eyes
And see where your help comes from.
Wander the hallway of ancient records,
And decipher the tree of knowledge.
Understand the “worth the living” part,
And leave the rest behind.
Listen to your lucky song
Until you have no need for it—
Until you walk upright in the day
When you have no need for a teacher.
Then open your eyes to the ignorance of night,
And see within it the light of all wisdom,
And stand on the unchanged shore of eternity.
The ones that, when you hear them,
Take the lid right off your day,
And remind you all things are possible.
And you know you can sell it,
Find it, fix it, paint it better,
Than anyone else,
And more than that,
Your dreams can come to life.
Let the windows of inspiration
Open up above your head.
Lift up your eyes
And see where your help comes from.
Wander the hallway of ancient records,
And decipher the tree of knowledge.
Understand the “worth the living” part,
And leave the rest behind.
Listen to your lucky song
Until you have no need for it—
Until you walk upright in the day
When you have no need for a teacher.
Then open your eyes to the ignorance of night,
And see within it the light of all wisdom,
And stand on the unchanged shore of eternity.
-jenn long
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