Mojave II (2008)
Riding to Hollywood with dollars flying out the window,
my eyes tinted by the mania of a thousand dreams,
I glare into the face of a burning sun,
rising from the dusty hills of southwestern hell.
Deadwood and dead men litter the highway,
a two-lane scorched path so unlike the Route 66
of romantic whimsy.
I nearly expect to see the boned skulls of steer,
rolling casually past the road like tumblweeds,
but this land is too cruel for such morbid beauty.
And so it is here I decide to stay,
letting my skin melt with the sun,
and my skull tumble across the highway always.
my eyes tinted by the mania of a thousand dreams,
I glare into the face of a burning sun,
rising from the dusty hills of southwestern hell.
Deadwood and dead men litter the highway,
a two-lane scorched path so unlike the Route 66
of romantic whimsy.
I nearly expect to see the boned skulls of steer,
rolling casually past the road like tumblweeds,
but this land is too cruel for such morbid beauty.
And so it is here I decide to stay,
letting my skin melt with the sun,
and my skull tumble across the highway always.
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