When you rub your eyes open in the morning

They don’t tell you what’s for breakfast

They don’t tell you that your yogurt is expired

Or if all your bread is moldy.

They don’t tell you that you’ll soon be sitting in a swanky diner where others cook for you.

They don’t tell you that the toaster is about to catch fire.

And they don’t tell you when someone eats the last banana,

But they don’t tell you either about the from-scratch pancake recipe that you’re about to get just right.

Up on stage that sunny afternoon

They don’t tell you about the tomatoes – be it Heirloom or Roma – that can’t wait to meet your clothes.

They don’t tell you about the trapped feeling that comes from being booed.

And they don’t tell you what it feels like when you hit that last chord just right,

The audience in thunderous applause,

You just as surprised as they,

That something turned out right.