The fruits of your life are harvested in the land of goodiness.

A place where no one feels the need to lie.

It is a land where not even Ebenezer Scrooge is in a state of moodiness.

This magical place is high up in the sky.

There is a lot of doubt about this place.

I do hope that it is real.

For the idea brings a hopeful smile to my face.

It will balance out the grumpiness that is caused by my life, the rat race.

Then I will meet FDR, and fly with the red baron ace.

Where I can sit with my long gone family, and enjoy a homecooked meal.

See Secretariat race with the utmost grace.

If I got the nerve I will ask Achilles about his bothersome heel.

I really hope that when Death touches me with its hands of cold loneliness,

I get to go to the wonderful place that is very high.