Grace

Grace by Dave Schipper © 2005 Rose Riversongs


She was a zesty mix of latin princess and call girl
A spicy whiplash with long flowing black hair
Courted by all the boys within a hundred miles
She ropes them all and then frees them with a smile.

She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace


Her daddy was assumed killed in a gang fight
The street adopted her and raised her right.
Now the all grown up girl stands tall
A ghetto flower in a world of asphalt


She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace



The hands of Grace filled with mercy
A gentle place, nothing fancy
To be with her is a blessing
Come unsure, leave rejoicing


She has a crucifix right next to the tv
She’s known to grab your hand and weep
On the hallway wall is a shrine to her father
Pictures of wasted man but no mother


Days she spends her time at the soup kitchen
Nights she brightens up the street with passion
She has the cred of the silent and the deadly
She gives more than a hand out, she gives mercy


She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace, She is Grace