Grateful

Be grateful, be grateful. They sing it at the golden boy like a hymn he's got to learn. They expect the most from him, so they demand the loudest amen, say a gift this size should drop a man to grateful, there and then. Count your blessings, count them now. (lead) He counts them, every one is true, and not a one of them knows how to land. Do you know how lucky, do you know how rare, (lead) and he nods and says he does, and he means it, and it isn't there. Grateful! he can't feel it. Grateful! but he sings along. Lucky! and the luckier they call him, the further gone. Grateful, grateful. Got it all, can't feel a thing, and he'd hand the whole crown back just to mean one ordinary thing. Somewhere there's a street that throws a party for a pass, real bread, real candles, for a day that doesn't ask. Be grateful! and he'd trade it all to feel that, but the door is shut for good, he has seen too much to go back to the boy he understood. Be grateful, hallelujah, raise it high. A thank-you that's demanded isn't thanks, it's just a lie. Raise it high. They expect the most, so the gratitude's a chore, and the word he says the most is the word he feels no more. Grateful! he can't feel it. Grateful! but he sings along. Lucky! and the luckier they call him, the further gone. Grateful, grateful. Got it all, can't feel a thing, and nobody in the choir can hear what they're making him sing. Be grateful, be grateful. Said it again. And it died on the way out.