This is bullshit!
God, tell me why you're calling my people Home?
I've buried 4 of them,
This past year alone.

Some of 'em barely into adulthood,
Some of 'em barely grown,
Some of 'em not gonna be here for their grandkids to get to know 'em.

It's not fair!
Tell me why my my younger Sister had to die!?!
I had a gun in my face,
When she got stabbed in the side.

You didn't call her home right then,
You left her here to suffer,
While the bastard who did it got away,
And got away with murder.

Sélan, I miss you... and Danielle and Renée-Leigh.
We buried both of them under their favorite oak tree.
They were waiting for a bus on a bright sunny day,
When a street-racer took their lives away.

What's really fucked, God,
Is that my wife's mom will soon be called Home.
It could be a week, maybe months,
But she'll be in the cold stone.

How do I tell her and the kids,
That life can really be fair,
If You take her to before her time,
And leave the rest of us here?

A new grandmother,
Who loves to watch our kids play,
Who calls just to talk to them,
Three or four times a day?

She loves them,
But there You go, taking her life away.
When she's needed most,
To watch and teach those grandkids every day.

An my wife is,
So depressed, sad, and so lost.
She'd give anything to keep her mom,
Pay whatever cost.

Do You even see her at night,
When she's down on her knees,
Begging and pleading with You,
To let her mom be?

So there you have it,
All summed up in a poem.
It isn't one that praises You.
It ain't a Latin psalm.

I could go on and on,
About all who you took from me,
But to write it all down,
Would take me nearly a week.

It's been a hard few years,
And there's plenty still to do.
I got more people to bury.
Family and friends called Home to You.

And I don't even get,
Time to myself to cry.
Guess I'll have to save it up,
Until the time comes for me to die.

Like I said before,
I still have plenty left to do.
Wait, before I go...
God???

FUCK YOU!

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