Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Was this the right choice?
Seeing warnings on twitter
Thinking they're all quitters
Thinking you're better
But in reality, you're just as equal as them.

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Seeing your friends play, you start multiplying
Not even touching a pipe and dying
You're on the floor, you're crying
Pressing start over and over again and trying
Knowing your high score is low and start lying
because you know you ****.

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Questions going through your mind
"Why did I die?"
"Did I really touch a pipe?"
"Why do iPhone users only have day while Android have both day and night?"
"Why is it slower on other phones?"
"How do you get past 20?"
"Why do I keep dying?"
"Why do Android users have other colors?"
But the question you should be asking is...
"Am I going mad?"

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

Now, the resolution.
Stop the addiction.
Press that "x"
You know its for the greater good.
I know YOU feel the ANGER whenever you die.
You don't wanna risk throwing your phone for that.
Take my advice. DO IT.
Before it ruins your life.

But as the day passes...
You can't.
You can't.
You can't.

Its too late.
Flappy Bird is now part of life.
Even though the anger
The anger that feels like your chest being stabbed by a knife
Hurts you so much
Deep inside you get a little happy...
Knowing somewhere in the world someone trying the same game
Got less than you.
Less than 3, 2, or 1.
And because of this you want to beat more people who **** more than you.

And this should be an achievement
You, state your name, got YOUR own high score.
YOU did it
YOU made it to one pipe or even more.
And if you didn't
Well ***** for you

But as the day passes...
Flap Flap goes the Flappy Bird

A year into our marriage he said he wanted out. I said no I'm not giving up.

Society tells us "Do what makes you happy." We are a nation of quitters. It's ok to quite at the slightest inconvenience, "It's just not for you, that's ok."

No it's not ok.

A small part of me wanted out too but I'm not a quitter and I serve Christ before man. Selfishness was the main problem. I had it all figured out on what my husband needed to do to change and make things better. God showed me trying to fix him was only going to make it worse.

I needed to change, I needed to have the unconditional love for my husband that Christ has for us. Forgiveness and mercy needed to become part of my daily vocabulary. So many nights I cried myself to sleep alone. I could have chosen to hate him and lash back at him. What good would it have done me?

God had me humble myself. God alone is the judge of man. Who am I to judge anyone? As long as I am right with God I am protected and loved. God's love is greater than any man.

Then something major happened to my husband that could have torn us apart if I had been focused on doing what was right in my eyes. Instead I took the opportunity to reach out to him, to love him at his lowest.

If I had been playing by the worlds rules I should have kicked him while he was down. Even after all he had put me through I had a deep love for him that reached a spiritual level. God brought us together and rekindled a love that had been trampled on and forgotten.

Let God's love lead you. 'The opposite of biblical love isn't hate, its apathy. To stop moving toward our spouse is to stop loving him or her. It's holding back from the very purpose of marriage.'

1 Corinthians 13:17- Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

1 Corinthians 3:19a- For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight.

Romans 2:7-8- To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor and immortality, He will give eternal life. But for those who are self-seeking and who reject the truth and follow evil,there will be wrath and anger.

James 4:12- God alone, who gave the law, is the Judge. He alone has the power to save or to destroy. So what right do you have to judge your neighbor?

Look at that *****
swallowing pills
like *****
because the people endowed to her
this poem
and she only bothered to read
the title.

.

There is no justice on ****-stained floors
which carry the burden of every broken
body-broken-mind-broken-hash-pipe and halo dust
atop a thin mattress soaked with God-knows-what.
Cross our toes and mutter until the next
nurse with the next Thorazine trip in a post-nasal
dripping whine stabs us in the *** again.  (Oh, baby!)
Not allowed to watch the television today
all for flipping off the government cameras
embedded behind the screens
while Barney sings “I Love You, You Love Me”
over and over and over will it ever end?
We know Barney is the Anti-Christ.  And a purple *******.

Let’s pretend to be Batman again, flapping
our hospital gowns and shrieking for no reason.
That needle might seek us out again.
We aren’t getting better days-months-years later
still on every med imaginable and some not even
scientifified yet—or whatever you Docs do
in your spare time.  Roll in money, mix more
chemical compounds that we turn into more defiance
just to get more scientifified dope.  Oops—
Big Bro knows our sullied secret now, but it’s still time for another dose.
Please pass the spoon for—umm—safe keeping.

Sure, rehab works for quitters.  None of the “we” are.
So we sit in group session and talk about Mickey Mouse,
atom bombs, flashback nightmares and melting walls.
Oh, the pretty colors.  Who said LSD wasn’t a beautiful thing?
We say we want to be Mickey Mouse, mousing through dissolving hidey-holes
in bricks of the basement while some ****-freak *******
builds another bomb.  What a nightmare!
Ha, ha: got more Thorazine from that ***** with a beard.
Maybe it’s a moustache, but we can’t tell—too blurry
anymore.  In a minute, she might blink her lips.

Ah, piece and quiet.  Piece of *** while ball-gagged qualifies.
Maybe we can play ping pong tomorrow,
tell more lies for the effect we desire, tap-a-pat-tap
our veins for.  Getting cranky is slow without Speed, but
give us a minute and we can accommodate those mood swings.
Just watch.  No, not the TV because Batman (“The Man”) says so.  Stupid cameras.
We’ll be on that see-saw roller coaster of binge and purge
and pills and withdrawal and manic and depression
and obsessing about the lightbulb blinking in the bathroom
since we know it’s Morse code for something.

Riding highs and lows with every-dose-every-needle-every-body
busted before we ever played ping-pong or swing set steeple chase
to see just who’s the real crazy here—us or “The Man”.
Ten Kool-Aid packages on the guy who invented pills
to “cure” addiction.  Any takers?  We didn’t think so.
Snort the sugar lines and move it along so that we can
have our turn at medical benediction:

to receive the body-of-Christ-in-a-gel-cap across our tongues and rock
side-to-downside in the ******-babble homeostasis chamber
while Doc-the-Man counts his blessing of bills in the collection basket
labeled Incoming and stamped with eagles.  We’ve seen it.

No justice and **** again.  ****** again.  And still, no checkmark on the chart
of getting better.  Maybe Doc and Ratchet-with-******-hair
are close enough to see us for what we are: hopeless/helpless.
But we can play OCD once more if we all hum along.
Why?  We forgot the **** words.  Oh, crap—no,
don’t make us leave.  Doorways are frozen places to ferment in
and it’s awfully hard to keep the candle burning
long enough to make everything right. To fix it all away.

Just for me; that’s all the “we” there ever was.

We were the ones,
Self-chosen ones,
And we had seen enough.
And we had heard enough
To be tired of the drama;
The games that our mamas
And our Papas played
The plans they laid
That so often did not work.
The pensions and the perks
That so often left them bitter
Mumbling curses about quitters
As they argued over parking spaces
And carefully averted their faces
When people were denied rights
Because they were not white
Or sometimes because Jews
And non-whites could not be
Members of their sororities
And country club amenities.

They demanded no dark skin
And objected to what we dressed in
And wanted us to cut our hair
And go find a decent job somewhere
To start an acceptable career
And get a decent nine to five
To work as long as we were alive.
We knew they were trying to protect
To drive us to the life they projected
That would help us get a salary
And develop the kind of misery
And sense of hopelessness;
The exact kind of mess
They were living
And they weren’t forgiving
When we rebelled and fought
And shunned the trinkets they bought
That they thought would tempt us
To buckle on the harness;
The long-term promise.

We rejected the temptation
To join the workaday nation
And get into the drinking
Nine-to-five way of thinking.
We swapped the whiskey
For something they found risky.
We smoked our marijuana
And talked about nirvana
In our love-beads and batik
We left family homes to seek
And ultimately to find friends
Who wanted the same ends
And would work with us,
And they would walk with us
To the love-ins and protests
And help us pen requests
For marches and gatherings
To demonstrate our misgivings
About who got what
And who did not
And how and when
And which were not seen as men.
But we saw poorly disguised slaves
We knew we wanted to save.

We were going to fix the world
So, we waded into insults hurled
And high-powered fire hoses.
They broke our arms and noses
And trod on our signs
And drew a line
Between us and the public.
We were criminals and suspects
In crimes they invented;
We patchouli oil scented
Hippies wearing Birkenstocks
Without any socks
And jeans with protest patches
Singing our snatches of songs
Like “We Shall Overcome Someday”.
They couldn’t hear a word we would say.
They just cursed us and objected
And made sure we were subjected
To as much stonewalling as the law
Could put up against us all.

We were going to fix the world,
And we got LBJ on our side, like Jack
He went on the attack
And changed things for the better
Still not to the letter of the law
But a bit more spirit
Began to exist in it
Because blacks were acknowledged
And could finally go to college
In white schools
Adhering to the rules
The bigots had always ignored.
And unlike before, the police
Actually kept the peace
Unless it involved demonstrations
Against the crimes of our nation
Against another nation
That never attacked us
Never even threatened us.
These protest made us criminals
And that is what the cops thought of us.

Yes, by the time Nixon was going
After everyone began knowing
What a rat he was and because
He got caught, we saw
Him get on the copter and leave
And without a thought to grieve
We wanted our country to cease
Being some kind of insane police
In an Asian country few of us knew.
To stop what they put our troops through
And bring the people back here
So they could end the killing and fear
That our country was generating.
The debating was through
And the country started anew
By ending that situation.
Peace descended on the nation
And we took credit.
We did do some of it.
Then, we quit.

We started small companies
Selling handmade gifts and soaps
Not becoming the dopes
We fought our parents not to be
But more the people we ought to be
Living in hippie enclaves
That turned into yuppie enclaves
And we got fatter.
But that didn’t matter.
We had our memories
And we had our old war stories
Of marching, and protesting
And they were interesting enough
That we lost the will to be tough
And let the objections slide
And hid inside our mini-farms
And ignored when people were harmed
By many of the same atrocities
That fueled our animosities
Just a generation before.
We decided it was not our war
And sat on our hands.
And drifted like the sands.

Killers don't quit, cause quitters get killed
I'll be cutting fools down, till every grave is filled
Look into my eyes you'll find a nightmare
call the ******* cops, see if I care.
By the time they get here
I'll rip out your ******* hair.
You're afraid to look at me
in my eyes you see despair.
You're afraid of what you'll see
in my thousand yard stare.

Once you pick up bloodshed
you can never put it down,
until your ****** ******* body
is cold and dead in the ground.
I'll be swinging taking shots
at all you ******* clowns,
until every body wishes
that I never came around.

If you ain't a killer get back in your shack,
killers rule the day, always on the attack.
I've got a pocket full of bullets
and a grave that I need filled.
Killers don't quit
because quitters get killed.

Suicidal
Homicidal
Alike but different
Each is permanent
**** someone in rage
Or **** yourself and leave behind a page
Your level of madness is measured,gauged
But why do I banter
Im as mad as a hatter
Nothing even matters
My life in tatters
A knife to me throat
Toss me in the moat
A bullet in the brain
Nothing to gain
Sometimes relief other times pain
The blood will be taint
Burn and Burn
Ashes in the urn
The worlds will turn
The stomachs will churn
For all you see is fake
And they will continue to take
An illusion
To launch you into confusion
A ruse
To light your fuse
Our lifespan
Throughout man
Short and bitter
So many of us quitters
The rest of us let out titters
While they gnaw on us, the critters
Bite and Bite
Fight for the light
To die in the moonlit night
To cause each other so much fright
Our 'Gods' tell us to **** each other
Our own brothers
Let the blackbird fly
High into the sky
To cause the gloom
To signal our doom
Our demise
Of the human enterprise

Ever heard the saying
"Quitters never win
And winners never quit"?
But what if
Quitting isn't a sign of weakness
But a sing of strength
That you are strong enough
To be humble and admit
You can't do it

in graves of boorish lands
a livingness so fake
riddling away this void
amidst the autumn race

with blink of bleeding heart
memory seeped in pain
she hangs upon his sleep
stale as love remain

but though may demon heart
pull voices in a head
and shrink below her weight
triumph as quitters dead

to find itself holed in
a crypt of blinding dark
dystopian consciousness
rejected cut spark

if faith shall fade and choke
in throes of emptiness
risk streams of million thoughts
set freeze in mindlessness

he'll find himself alive
near oasis of hate
her cascading blue eyes
crashing inferno's gate

for in his dreams as if
twisted lie angry shores
an accident of life
she drifts as nervous smoke

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
ill swallow the gnats to feed
the bellies and the growing fears
I never know how to greet it

I took the nail filer and carved
two perfect holes directly above my big toes
you can never be too careful
I wanted to make sure my feet knew that sometimes
things happen

I promised my umbrella that if
it could wait another couple weeks
I wouldn't rip it to shreds myself
why is there patience for quitters and
people who hate thunderstorms?

There are orca whales in my ears
but only when it rains
Gave into the cooped clouds,
let them smear cleaner through my roots
swaying instead to dodge the drip
and heaving sighs

Silence is like
maggots to rotting flesh,
***** to a rock hard liver,
and drought, in any area
other than the desert.
It hurts, more than it helps.

Yet still, I have
too much pride to beg
for your forgiveness,
and know still that it would
not do me any good.
Only add more scabs
to my scarring knee caps.
No, I know that I have to wait.
Wait until you're mature
enough to realize
that people, normal people
make mistakes.

Silence is like a life boat,
with a hole in the bottom,
hurts, more so than helps.
So when you jumped
out of the burning ship,
I was the one who sank.
Thanks.

when when  when
and the more I say it
the more it sounds like
another language, archaic
german or synonym for
rice bowl in mandarin
the more I say it, the more
it fades from minor burn
to casualty, from rhetorial
question to plea, until I'm
sweating out in my apartment
angrily slamming clothes hangers
into the closet, shakily raising my
voice at God like a waspish child
and tearing dresses over my head
proclaiming see? see? I'll never
get to wear this one either.

curling my fingers into the bedspread--
around bottles of tea tree oil and dragging
an old kabuki brush through peach blush
holding my lips this way and that, when?
when will it be enough?


When will it be enough?

Stab me,
Oh baby just **** me
Take all I said in a moment of trusting
*******, throw it back at me
Prove me right again, lemme have it
Toss my head around, fantastic
Nail me to the wall,
I'm bleeding, but laughing
Make yourself sick
With your lie soaked spit
I'll still get what I want
You may be a quitter,
But I'm not

My veins have been slowing , just a chill down my spine. My heart threatening to burst at the slightest move. I was caught between me, trying to get you. Where was understanding hiding? I was mistaken to hold my breath in response to empty sighs. Here was you, perceiving I as an us when there was no one denying. That we were two who swore to be one. I have chosen forever, or maybe I'm done.

we live in a time,
where tradition trumps mind.

where habit defeats virtue,
where old conquers new.

Mankind is looking dire
So it seems I now admire

the quitters most of all.

When life becomes meaningless
no matter what you do seems useless
and all opportunities you grab wasted
broken dreams lurking with self busted
everything you hold on now starts to fall
drags your feeling pushed against the wall
realization of your life is at the cutting edge.

When life becomes the darkest
no hope of light made you weakest
things you touched soon are dead
failure always cling to you instead
you try to survive from uncertainties
yet your ego succumbs to all the vanities
Doubt overcomes self falling to the cutting edge.

Though life becomes vague
Do not give up to fight the plague
For quitters do not win any endeavor
Hang-on lit the ember to light you with fervor
For as long as you have the courage to go forward
Then no amount of deterrents can make you a coward
And in the end you will be able to override the cutting edge.

The countenance of her throne
epitomizes the state of her soul,
and this countenance I shall describe
but only to who may tolerate the details
of its most uncanny existence.

A clique of stallions
gallop about in a nauseating blur,
their red eyes glowering under
the amber light descending from
an ominous sliver of moon,
its mere presence prompting on
the inversion of the stars
and the curled screeches of
the morbid beasts
whose fur hangs darker than
the trembling eye of Hell.

Atop one lacerated saddle
rides Her Majesty--
The Queen of the Circus,
deranged like the specimen
she keeps in her company.
And,
with every cacophonic rise
of the carousel,
she howls,
her ******* cries as primal as
the stallions' untamed whinnies.

She bites her lip until
she can taste blood
(and ***),
throws her hands to her temples
in ****** wistfulness--
pale limbs encompass teased hair
where decomposing acorns
(rotten kisses)
and bouquets of Nightshade
reside amongst the tangle
of Medusa-Esque curls,
amongst large, brown eyes
that sparkle gold under
the cursed heavens
which have been simultaneously
pleasured and scandalized
by the sight of her bare *******
clinging to sheer leotard,
by the sight of her body swaying
round the rusted poles that
have sunk themselves into the horses' skulls
like a ring sinks round
a glass bottle
or a lover's finger.  

Of course, Her Royal Darkness
is more than just a Circus Queen.
She, indeed, entertains
a grand variety of morbid hobbies;

She is a Fire Eater
{spitters are quitters};

Grave Digger
{she dances the Charleston atop
treasure chests of bones and
bones with carnival mobsters};

Crystal Ball Prodigy
{reading palm | l|i|n|e|s | like
p
o
e
t
r
y};

Ring Mistress
{**** or ****,
purr or bite--
what shall it be?};

Acrobat
{knees perched above shoulders,
a man's mouth between her legs};

Ventriloquist
{"I'll steal your breath away, darling."}


Why yes!

She is a Jaqueline of all trades.

"Pick a card! Any Card! ..."

"Is this your card? ..."

A heart is drawn,
cleaved between her teeth,
each pulse of vein
a magnificent drum beat
against her tongue.
With the blood of her prey--
juices as thickly sweet
as candy floss--
she marks her territory,
parades her ****--
a pink handprint
smeared across the hide
of each stallion.

"What dizzying artistry...
how lovely--
how...insane,"
she laughs,
each high pitched giggle
a homage to the maddening  musings
of her soul
(and her throne.)

Sharp words shouldn't be spoken
Nobody's perfect
When everything comes out broken
Choking on every syllable
Soaking up every last "I'm sorry"
like a sponge that's full already
Steady, aim, fire another round across his bow
Give her another volley of misunderstanding champ,
because your fowling out over fences topped with razor wire

Sometimes a simple smile seems better
Than a string of wrong words that leave your mouth bitter
Sometimes still tongues touch more hearts
and wagging ones turn burnt ears into quitters
Sometimes stepping out's better

Why stick around and frown?
Why let it all bring you down?
Needle and thread your squack box
Turn keys on locks
And give it up, will ya?!
Try it again tomorrow
There'd be a whole lot less sorrow....

i want to walk
following streams and roads
until they run slower and slower and eventually run out
just me, my feet, and the idea of never returning
in the day i'll dance with the sun rays
at night i'll make small talk with the stars
i'll smoke the air
drink the clouds
shower in the wind
and dry myself in the warmth fireside
i'll walk until my shoes split in two
and my feet start to bleed
my clothes will tear
and hair will become greasy
and i'll walk on
until i wake up in the same desk chair i fell asleep behind
looking at a pc screen
and remembered that sleeping is for dreamers
and walking out is for quitters

Do you even know how hard it was for me?
To put away the liquor and pipes
For the love of Christ I can't even begin to tell you how awful it was before you.
I can't even begin to tell you how many nights I stumbled home.
How many mornings I woke up asking what happened the night before.
How many nights my roommate asked how ****** up I was as I laughed and told her how badly I wanted cookies.

Now I'm not saying **** ****** me up that bad
But I may have taken the things that numb me a little too far:
Drinking till I can't remember,
Smoking until my frowns are smiles,
Puffing on cigarettes until I cough up a lung.
What doesn't **** me makes me stronger, right?

I couldn't continue my preaching higher than cloud nine or drunker than a man with nothing left to lose.
But for some unknown reason you gave me the courage to quit the liquor.
And Im glad you stopped me, otherwise the next year was gonna be brutal because AA is for quitters and momma never raised a quitter.

I may not have alcohol.
I may not have Mary Jane
But I do have you.
So you wanna go smoke a joe?

Lost in the fumes of a cloudy exhale
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water.
My remains are scattered somewhere
between boyhood and gutter trash.
The present is hardly of concern
when the blankets of mud offer such astounding
silence.
This swamp was flooded with the prosperity of quitters.
-
The face of the street I grew up on
has been radically warped and distorted.
Leave a good thing to the elements long enough
and you’ll see it begin to degrade.
Dust gathers and mold begins to creep in
from the moisture lingering in the air.
It happens to our childhood toys
just as easily as it happens to the people we know.
-
Everything still holds the same shape;
the same structure that casts a shadow in memory,
it’s just that now the cosmetics have worn off
and you can see the tired lines start to show.
You can hear the creak of arthritic wooden steps
to front porches where old kin with liver spots
sit and drink a shared Ice House 40 oz. while spitting into the wind.
Cavities from a candy coated childhood.
-
There are strangers in my old home,
that place where my uncle lives
surrounded by VHS tapes, pictures of Brett Favre,
and reminders of dead cockatiels.
The biggest struggle is trying to recall
if he was always this way,
or did it take a forty year dope binge
for the hoarder to finally stir?
-
I wrote my name in the sidewalk at the foot of steps.
I search for a glimpse of myself in grimy water
and check under the bushes for garter snakes .
My stomping grounds have been wiped of footprints
and grandma’s violets don’t come in very well anymore.
They cut down the walnut tree, and got rid of the porch swing.
No time for whimsy, no time for strays.
The cicadas will sleep for ten more years, ‘til summer.

The darkness fades the embers re-lit
keep on truckin or will you quit?
horizon is right above those hills
so don't reach for the alcohol or the pills
life's not for one hitter quitters
life's about love, the jump that kills
the feelin that shoots down your spine
Chills

Noisless laughter,
Bickering surrounding me,
Anger will build,
My only release is escape,
I'm locked in this cage,
A class full of people whom I hate,
They mock me,
And I mock their idiocy,
*** heads,
Drinkers,
And quitters,
Surrounded by the unfavored,
Suffocating in the abyss,
Darkness devouring my insides,
Hatred grown,
Loath in process,
They must be ended,
They too must change,
I am not alone,
I will survive,
I will find my way out.

soap and water
          dishes
          laundry
          or shower

brick from mortar
boys against girls

urban velvet smog
city vapors clog

this train -- there is a line
        beginners
        quitters

this parking lot -- there is a line
        shoppers
        influencers

open bar pharmacy, bottled water

                  no pity
                  no guarantees

dragon chasers
chin music
        
          lapsed short term memory loss

opening mail for grandmother
                the obituaries
                that ****** fly

a discussion among men
about a woman's voice
           come sit and listen

one last cigarette couple
walking home through the park
               driving alone in the dark
                             on the heels of
                             a reflection
                             of Christ
                             or an hourglass
                             in remission

them or not them
       just arrived
       just married
too many stairs
not enough elevators
worry about it later

them, definitely them
sharing beds
      under the leotard
      under the candlelight

a helping hand
finely manicured fingers
one stationary
        then two in missionary

word upon words need aspirin
            orchestrate
            headache
                            pillow is the threshold
                            tomorrow...soap and water

Ask a smoker to join you for a cigarette
One last one before a good nights rest
and the answer will inevitably be yes
Some people smoke, some drink, and some are all about the illicit
My chosen affliction is your love.

All good, well-versed, professional addict knows
rehab is for quitters
I want nothing more than to overdose
on the most powerful high:
your kisses and hugs.
To melt in to a puddle
with you,
there is nothing better

and nothing worse than withdrawal.
They say the first few days are terrible
I've been hooked on you, and all I can tell you is
please enable me.
I can feel the cold days approaching,
my nose runs and my stomach churns.
This is not going to be an easy turn
I can only hope,
I can only pray,
That a dose will be ready when I return on the 25th, my most awaited day

It took a lot for me to learn
To not speak in absolutes
Statements that climb ladders
But quickly fall in chutes
Sentences that build you up
Tall enough to fall flat on your face

Beggars become choosers
Quitters become losers
Nobody likes a quitter
Not with that attitude

I will never
I will never say never
I will never say never again

Adopted (story)

There’s a tale that I must tell
Of a heart that I knew quite well.
This heart dwelled within her chest
And had given its very best.

Love and compassion had filled this heart
But it was taken advantage of from the start.
This love and compassion was given
Freely to children in pain
But to the adoption agencies
It was just a game.

“ sell the child to the highest bidder”
You work for us - we have no quitters!
Take them for all the money that you can
This is part of the company plan.
And promise them what you must
For in us they put their trust.

If they want a particular type of child
Then they will have to wait a while.
We can give them what they want
If the price is right.
But it will not be overnight.

If they just want a child, and there
Is no preference to how it must be.
We will fill the contract gladly.

We have black children, white children
Oriental too.
We’ll do what we must - to satisfy you.

Now her heart was overflowing
And she knew where she was going.
She went to the D C S where her
case she would rest.

The Department of Children s Services was
Already building a case, because
Of so many civilian complaints.
Now with the case pending
Where to place them, the judge was rendering.

“ I will take them if I can, for I have more
Than enough land.
I have a ranch with more than enough rooms
Give them to me it’s not too soon.

Do a background check, which I know you must
For in the system I put my trust.

One month later, they was living under their roof
For the courts had gotten the proof.
She raised the children like her own
And to the courts it was shown.

Now she can share her heart, and the children
Can have a brand new start.

LOVE AND COMPASSION RULE!

louis rams