That's one of the songs I sang as a lullaby to my babies.
I like that word: lullaby. Lullaby. Oh, tender voice, lead me where I am afraid to go.
So as I was walking home this afternoon, I was singing that song to myself.
"I sing because I'm happy..."
(even though I wasn't, but why shouldn't I have been, after being blessed with the beautiful synchronicity of finding the copy of Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning in the middle of the road?)
"...I sing because I'm free..."
(so why didn't I feel happy and free? what? do I expect books meant just for me to fall down from heaven every day now, and when they don't, I'm bored and disappointed and wonder if the whole thing was just a pointless random coincidence anyhow...?)
"...for his eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches..."
(and just then, I looked to my left, and on the grass right next to the sidewalk was a DEAD BIRD, and I mean, this thing wasn't just dead, it was laid OPEN, like something on Ducky's N.C.I.S. autopsy table...)
(That's the end of the song. Right on time.)
Our generation is realistic, for we have come to know man as he really is. After all, man is that being who invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord's Prayer or the Shema Yisrael on his lips.
Viktor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning
(PS I might be flattering myself by thinking anyone would want to copy this stuff, but just in case: please don't. Brief quotes referencing back to this page are fine though, even if you want to say it's crappy. Sometimes, I copyright my writing the old-fashioned way: print a copy, bring it to the post-office, get the date stamped on the sealed envelope.)