Lord every year we gather here
To eat around this table
Give us the strength to stomach as much
As fast as we are able
Bless this food to our use
Though communication’s useless
Don’t let me drink too much wine
Lord you know how I get ruthless

Let us somehow get through this meal
Without that bad old feeling
With history and memory
And home cooking we’re dealing
Remind us that we are all grown up
Adults, no longer children
Now it’s our kids that spill the milk
And our turn to want to kill them

Uit Thanksgiving, door Loudon Wainwright (op History)


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