In God’s hands

I hate to say it, but it’s making my mouth water
The idea of no longer suffering because of another father’s daughter
Not living under the boot of Israel’s psychological self-slaughter

I really think within the next couple of months, I’ll know what’s real
Not because they told me, of course, because that would make me heal
But I will quit caring
And be more daring

And I will play a part in the apocalyptic show
Or I’ll find some stretch of beach in Guerrero
And finally…finally…at long, long last…enjoy that mojito

Even if it means drinking wormwood
Just the idea of it tastes good

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