Ticket to Mojave

Times are a bit tougher

Year's are growing older

Feeling the skin on my limbs

Reaching downward further.

Though far away from old age

This body's taken toll,

From a mental past on minds that lapse

While growing feeble vocals.

Steps on a barren wasteland

To take one, weighs with weight,

As Atlas kept the earth from ground

In its risen reclusive states.

Bound in spiritual collar,

Binds forged, to forget,

break with hilt, cull all guilt

Smiting down all wanting.

Venture in an orange hot glow

Under, a halogen lamp lit sky

Winds of brown from western towns

Blot out one who's coming.