“All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work.” 2 Timothy 3:16-17
Woke up with enough time to do nine push ups and a handful of jumping jacks to Michael Franti before catching the crosstown bus from hell to another simply marvelous joy filled 15 hour work day where I am (without sarcasm) content.
And prayed for the peace that would come if we would all cry out to Him.
On this early morning commute a rather irate pregnant woman demanded to get on bus while the driver repeatedly closed the door on her and said there's no where to sit but his lap. She screamed and flailed her arms until the driver relented. Once she made her point and squeezed her non showing belly and grossly scowling forehead between the white line and four raised armpits, all of the passengers had turned against her.
But before the nonsense ensued, in my four minute attempt to work off the late night catering in the privacy of my quiet home, I honed in on Franti's lyrics...Oh My God.
Oh my, oh my God
here mama they got us livin’ suicide singin’
Oh my, oh my God, oh my God
Listenin' to my stethoscope on a rope
internal lullabies, human cries
thumps and silence, the language of violence
algorithmic, cataclysmic, seismic, biorhythmic
you can make a life longer, but you can’t save it
you can make a clone and then you try to enslave it?
stealin’ DNA samples from the unborn
and then you comin’ after us
‘cause we sampled a James Brown horn?
scientists who’s God is progress
a four-headed sheep is their latest project
the CIA runin’ like they're Jones from Indiana
but they still won’t talk about that Jones in Guyana
this ain’t no cartoon, no one slips on bananas. Singing Oh my God. MF
here mama they got us livin’ suicide singin’
Oh my, oh my God, oh my God
Listenin' to my stethoscope on a rope
internal lullabies, human cries
thumps and silence, the language of violence
algorithmic, cataclysmic, seismic, biorhythmic
you can make a life longer, but you can’t save it
you can make a clone and then you try to enslave it?
stealin’ DNA samples from the unborn
and then you comin’ after us
‘cause we sampled a James Brown horn?
scientists who’s God is progress
a four-headed sheep is their latest project
the CIA runin’ like they're Jones from Indiana
but they still won’t talk about that Jones in Guyana
this ain’t no cartoon, no one slips on bananas. Singing Oh my God. MF
Who can save us from ourselves?
No comments:
Post a Comment