My Lord You Brought Me To This Rich Land

My Lord, you brought me to this rich land. Your blessings overflow out of the hands of your people, the brains of your people, the hearts of your people, the autopsies of your people. Wait for me to bring my best as these brought their best. To offer my self, To offer sacrifice, To make (in) awe and gratitude, For the fat-land-oil-people you’ve laid out before me, on repulsively seductively repulsive boards in vaults, For the person you have made me to be, 'cause God don’t make no junk, But all I do, all I bring, all I have to offer is marred, scarred by my Self- Inability- Flitting- Distraction- Consciousness- Appraisal- Failure- Hunger- Drought, My Lord, isn’t there a blessing left in Milkandhoneyland For me?