My Turn

Too bright center stage, sinner frights for every age. Just remember my lines. I hear a new choice, My Father’s Voice. He’s laughing and crying again now. The fields are white. Dear Mother, don’t cry for me anymore, unfolding hands again, waves in my shore. The preenin’ Queen in King has arrived. You bes’ accept Her, Saint or set Her somber Scepter aside.

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