Gracie (Arranged)

 

Mom got me a kitten. In five days,
She was contagious; she was gray.
She had a fungus on her hips.
She had to go; they put her to sleep.
But I was crying: “Life is rude.
It’s not her fault —I understood.
Without germs, with proper food,
She could be very, very good.”

 

I bought a cat for the children's bind.
She ate each cable she could find.
For twenty years, I kept her blamed.
I pushed her nose into the stains.
But I was thinking, “Life’s too rude.
It’s not her fault; I understood.
If she were a turtle, which she could be,
She would have other attitude.”

 

I kept one gal for many years.
She was hysterical upstairs.
She ruined everything we’ve got.
(I meant exactly, not abstract.)
But I was thinking, "Life is rude.
It’s not her fault —I understood.
If she were a nun and promptly prayed,
She ain't be constantly to blame.

I’ve known one boy since he was a youth.
He is always conning, twisting 't truth.
He drinks nonstop — strong booze and beer.
He swears to all who’s far and near.
But I was thinking, “Life is rude.
It’s not his fault —I understood.

If he was ‘a cat with fungus hips,
His life could be like a sinking ship.”.

 

We monitor the commonwealth.
By judging others like ourselves,
Because those only tools we had,
To sort the good things from the bad.
But when excuse: “The life is rude:
It’s not their fault; we understood!"
That means that goodness 'll not prevail,
While keeping wrongness on its bail.