You’ll not find it here … the cards are well worn; the players are drinkin’ heavy and smoke drifts in, … those rare times when the door opens; something’s in your drink … and the clock on the wall isn’t moving …
Here, … you’re told to cut the cards and deal … the cards are stacked in their favor when the sheriff’s a friend, a conspirator as well, but there’s no other physical place run to, so what next?
Violence’s not only on the rise; it’s an accepted STAPLE … they even visit it upon the innocent, helpless, not-yet-preborns, that’s the depth of their evil resolve! Ante-up you’re told … your pockets still jingle … for time being …
They write their books dedicating them to SATAN and you ask “Who’s in control?” ???
Are you blind? Deaf, or seriously belong on the street, … waiting for ‘the short bus’.
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