ms. 17 is in a five minute delay

in the pressed play 

of flesh god okay 

in this dismay 

there’s a replay

in all this winded might 

of best first last bite

in this hidden strife

there’s no God 

just a suffocating facade

these two are not true

ms. 17 is a hue 

that’s not blue 

instead, ms. 17 is fire red lead

these two strands

just made weak sand

their everyday of yesterday 

will never ever be God’s today

in this painful purple season

the rejection of God’s protection

is the locus season

in this focus of wrong she reason

is an unarmored alarming fable

this lust of dust

is radiating rust

and the chosen label 

Only God is able 

the wrong ring 

will continue to sting 

and be dead by wrong she lead

no godliness will manifest

just an expired wired protest

of the black tar 

in this cracking jar

ms. 17 will continue to slide

in the wrong she lying 

of this dying 

flesh god pride 

ms. 17 can no longer hide

in the flesh god facade

this rat race

is a suffocating pace 

God pressed stop 

on this countdown clock

ticks to the tocks 

replays misplaced shock 

ms. 17’s lean in mean

is the pretend 

in the end of this glean

there’s no serene 

just loops and loops

of this two strand troop

their pale scale

is lame playing same

the wrong song 

is a strong throng 

of suffocation 

in this hesitation 

to press play 

in His Obey

ms. 17 must reject delay 

and delete deluded dismay 

it’s a falsified illusion 

where God tells the same conclusion 

of the last lying dying days

because this misery 

is truly history

take a bow 

and allow

this cancelled show 

to finally play go

be free in the see 

of kinetically to press play separately 

reject the end of delay

pretend is no longer okay 

there’s a need for His Gills

reject the erotic cheap thrill

stop the lay in playing cheap lemonade

there’s no respect 

in this self made prospect 

biblically it will never be

she who findeth

God will always only see

he who findeth 

not the wrong she 

fighting to reject 

and neglect God’s Prospect

of mr. hue of blue 

to fight what will always be true

God’s stir is he + He + her

flesh god will always be fading facades

take the pending bow 

to finally press play in His Allow

His will be done

Thy Kingdom will come

only from three strands 

never from the loop

of this faded flatlined troop

in the two strands of sand

starring mr. mean, lean and glean

featuring this very tired ms. 17

Only God paints the strokes 

no matter what flesh god evokes to provoke

this expired season 

no longer can hide the prideful reason

this black jar of tar

will no longer take 

to press play in remake 

wrong she’s no bacon jar will finally break

scales now fail

tears are in this veil

God is now going to prevail

in His Destiny of His Hidden Details 

thank you King

for making all souls sing 



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