The hapless fool is kicked to the ground, the unlucky victim is brutally axed. He thinks God has dumped him, he’s sure that God is indifferent to his plight. Time to get up, GOD—get moving. The luckless think they’re Godforsaken. They wonder why the wicked scorn God and get away with it, Why the wicked are so cocksure they’ll never come up for audit. But you know all about it— the contempt, the abuse. I dare to believe that the luckless will get lucky someday in you. You won’t let them down: orphans won’t be orphans forever. Break the wicked right arms, break all the evil left arms. Search and destroy every sign of crime. GOD’s grace and order wins; godlessness loses. The victim’s faint pulse picks up; the hearts of the hopeless pump red blood as you put your ear to their lips. Orphans get parents, the homeless get homes. The reign of terror is over, the rule of the gang lords is ended.
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