The early morning rays draw a cavalcade of feverish shapes through the veil The slow burning air beckons a brand new crawl through the same old trail Endless the lines, voracious they stretch Lonesome the walk, fugacious the end A march of the ages, for weeks, months, years, through nights and days Carrying a nomad's home with the weight of the world through suns that never fade Arid are the grounds, dazzling the light Elusive the air as heavens reignite Sandstorms and serpents, the sole gift from the skies Withering endemic flora of paradise Thirst and visions devouring at the will, defying the drive to break free The trail expands and contracts Horizons move forth then retract What vile curse must have been cast bring on the blast The ultimate trail towards quiet begins and ends in prisons we never leave No harsher soils than those conjured by man Mojave, Tanami and Niger inside