| To the misanthropic misbegotten merchants of gloom
|
| who look into their crystal balls and prophesied our doom:
|
| «let the death knell chime, its the end of time»
|
| let the cynics put their blinkers on and toast our decline.
|
| Don’t become demoralized by scurrilous complaint,
|
| its a sure sign that the old world is terminally quaint.
|
| and tomorrow’s gonna be a better day,
|
| no matter what the siren voices say
|
| tomorrow’s gonna be a better day,
|
| we’re going to make it that way.
|
| To the pessimistic populists who harbor no doubt,
|
| that everything we make our way — «to hell in a hand cart».
|
| To the snarky set, who’s sniping to get,
|
| anyone who puts their head above the parapet.
|
| Don’t become disheartened baby, don’t be fooled,
|
| take it from someone who knows the glass is half full.
|
| And tomorrow’s gonna be a better day,
|
| no matter what the siren voices say.
|
| Tomorrow’s gonna be a better day,
|
| e’re gonna make it that way. |