Sundays she screams "Praise the Lord" for keeping me,
For bringing me through the week
From the fight she fought so meek.
Sundays she screams "Lord and father please",
To take her through another week,
To be devoured by Ceaser's sharpened teeth,
Pain and stress meets her at her peak.
Tears, sweat and blood running down her cheeks,
Yet she smiles and you don't hear the frustration when she speaks.
I call her mother and Queen,
Because she's the strength that live in me,
That make me want to be the best me that I could ever be.
Sundays she screams to the top of her voice,
With any song of her choice,
Singing the pain that reflected on her chest,
Dancing away her time to rest.
Still feeling the mortal pain that rocks her flesh,
Sundays she screams "Father Lord look over me" and the trials she's about to meet, pushing her feet
Ready for the new heat, ready for the streets,
To rebuke the devils peace and again her children's feast until Sunday she screams.