Wasteland
On the desert floor, lines do run
Baked in place by the blazing Sun
No water do they ever taste
So goes it in the land of waste
Cactus standing tall from the floor
Pricked by the needles, they bore
There is nowhere for me to hide
My brain is becoming petrified
Drowning in the sweat of my pain
Never falls one drop of cool rain
I will die under this desert Sun
Never to be found by anyone