you’re gonna be okay
we’re gonna be okay
A child in a shopping cart wimpers over a forged injury, milking it for all he’s worth. Mom’s solace is all he’s aiming for. She repeats a canned line that keeps the meltdown at bay. Every so often her attention to him fades as she picks through the clothing racks and his whimper turns into a wail until she gets back to her half-hearted mantra, “you’re gonna be okay, we’re okay, we’re gonna be okay...”
We're Gonna Be Okay
Launder on gentle cycle and air dry.