“I Pray for Peace (feat Kati Cher)”
She lost her job at the corner store years ago, and the bills still come in like a flood. There's a boy at home who asks why she's crying, and all she can tell him is that she wishes she could give him more. There's a girl who asks why she's gone — and the honest answer is a bar somewhere down the highway, her last dollar in the tip jar because the rest went on gas and tolls. She's a singer. Not a famous one. She plays small rooms for small money and drives home in the dark, and every person in her life has an opinion about it: Girl, go and get yourself a real job.
Her answer is the whole song. "I'm the queen of the underground." Not a joke, not a consolation prize — a title she gave herself and refuses to hand back. And when they push again — what are you doing now? — she doesn't argue economics. She says she's working her way up to God. That's the line that turns a hard-luck story into a hymn. The chorus she sings isn't a demand or a protest; it's the smallest, most stubborn thing a person can offer a world that isn't listening. God bless the free world, and God bless you and me. I don't know what you're doing, but I know what I'm doing. I pray. She can't fix any of it. She can play one more night, move one more room, come home and tell her kids she's working her way back. The song never promises it works. It just refuses to stop.
More from “I”"I'm the queen of the underground" And they said "What you doin' now?" I said "I'm just workin' my way up to God"