You leave offerings for a temperamental deity
and hope she doesn't ruin your life
like she's done a million times.
You keep doing it because there are days,
oh,
there are days,
there are days when she causes the sun to tan your face,
rain to nurture your crops,
and you love her so dearly,
your lady,
your mistress from above,
that you keep leaving food offerings,
writing prized literature,
singing songs,
giving everything.

She gives,
and she takes away.

I swear I try not to act so immortal.