Walking through the hills I found
That deserts are quite dry
The sagebrush tells a stilling tale
And it’s you who must ask why.
Leaving off the finer things
To bask in natures iron fist
The wind blows dust across the hills
And comfort is what’s truly missed.
I embarked with thoughts on fire
And had them quenched with biting sand
The mother’s blowing chill desire
Is to see me in the land.
Death seems but a step away
And all the wishing is quite sad
But wind is blowing sand around
And happiness cannot be had.
So looking for the better thing
I walked into the waiting hills
And climbed upon the crumbling rocks
Until my soul had had its fill.