I am too weak to speak,
        that is why I am writing this  —
        will you please bring me some water?
        I cannot make the few feet to the sink,
        the art of happiness prevents me.
        When you bring me the water
        make sure it is in a glass.
        Water would rather be held by a glass
        than be in a stream on its way to the ocean.
        That is the art of happiness.
        Alas it will one day leave the glass
        but water would rather be held by the body
        than be in a stream on its way to the ocean.
        Alas it will one day leave the body
        but not to worry now.
        That is the art of happiness.
        When water enters us it becomes
        delirious, it gets to push things out of its way,
        it gets to form an opinion and then express it,
        it gets to see what no once else has seen.
        As you can see I am dying of happiness.
        Please ask the surgeon to come
        and remove this day —
        I don’t want to die of happiness.
        What’s a glass of water to you?
        What’s a phone call or two?