The Reclamation of C'est la Vie

A ballroom mosaic of shattered glass
with butterfly dancers fluttering past,
curls of smoke on the dusty air -
step onto the bus and pay your fare.
It will take you reeling and lurching along
to a rumbling tune and a cuckoo’s song,
through terror and sorrow
and a laughing tomorrow -

But hey now, that’s life!
Two and two makes three, don’t you know?
Sometimes it blows fast and sometimes it’s slow -
won’t you dance with me?

Dust in the wind, all the preachers do say -
that’s all this world is. But come on, let’s play!
Dance a jig to a moonlit wind:
there’s a pot of gold at the end.
Morning glories wave a hymn of praise
to the sun and the sky and the circling days,
drunk on the glory
of each new day’s story -

But hey now, that’s life!
Only chains are free, don’t you know?
The manacled spirits flit to and fro -
won’t you dance with me?

The top of the canyon is drifted in snow,
with sunlight above and white water below,
and the butterflies flutter by;
there’s a speck of dust in my eye.
If change is a pain, it’s a birthing cry too,
and who knows what everything is ere it’s through?
And we sing c’est la vie
and look out to the sea -

Cause hey now, that’s life!
That’s all we can see, don’t you know?
We haven’t yet come to the end of the show -
won’t you dance with me?