I want to cry,
But I’m not sure what good it would do,
Other than fill the bottle
I hear God’s saving up,
So maybe He can show me later
When I’m dead and it don’t make any difference
If I paid my bills or not.
And God might say,
“See. I knew. I was there with you.”
And I’ll say,
“I couldn’t tell at the time.
It felt like you left me high and dry.”
I don’t know what God will say to that;
Something wise beyond my understanding,
I suppose.
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