217 or Goodness

Goodness!

What did I do to deserve this?

Winter and scripts, but

a choir of angels. 

Oh, it went wrong in my home state. 

Beaten up from the thugs I called my own. 

I was. 

Now, I’m never gone. 

Always prowling around her neck,

said goodnight to foolish destruction. 

Took me by the collar, 

ain’t got nothing but good news. 

Listened to some love drained lips, 

heard the gospel and was saved. 

I was washed new in bathtub liquor 

cheap perfume 

and promises of forgetting.