To Pluck: The Psalms in other Words.

xxviii.
Oh, my DJ, keep me on the turn table and spinning.
You are the needle that keeps me centred.
Please help me, please listen to me.
For if you shut up, I’m going to give up.
Listen, I need some mercy, and I don’t mind pleading for it.
I’m even lifting my hands to you-please fill them with something.

Don’t staple me to the wicked or judge me with them, IÕm not like them.
They act nicely while planning murder. Take them out. Death is all they deserve.
Give them as much discipline as they’ve meted out to others.
Pay back is a bitch, especially when God keeps the grudge.
They don’t care what you’ve done, or what you’ve made.
So he will tear them down like repossessed buildings and sell the property to someone who wont develop. They’ll never again be mean.

Props to the man upstairs, for he heard me over the noise and gave me a hand.
The Lord acts as my steroids-the strength in me. He is also my shield on every side. I lean on him very heavily, so I hope he doesn’t fall over.
He gives me my fix and I am in ecstasy. I sing long into the night about him.
The Lord guards us and helps us win stuff.
Bless Israel, you own her, treat her well.
Lead them like a captain and carry them like a mum.

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