What is full of sunshine,
Nearly all of the time,
So much so that it should be a crime?
What happens when the wife,
Is crying due to the strife,
Why is she crying, what's wrong with our life?
Is it because of me,
I guess it has to be,
I just don't see any other possibility.
Isn't there anything,
That just might bring,
Back the feeling of meaning?
One could only pay,
For that very day,
But maybe that feeling is too far away.
But then she smiles,
And makes all of the trials,
Worth running over a million miles.
And when I'm done,
I'll walk on the sun,
Just to make sure that she's having fun.
After all, without strife,
It seems that life,
Would be like walking on the edge of a knife.
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