And after all the crops were reaped,

I climbed my horse and left.

I left the desert far behind, my lips a gnarled smile.

Among the hills, I turned green to Ash,

And then floated down the Nile.

I stopped in Mississippi then, and marched South through the marsh.

And though the folks, they learned my name,

They cursed it after dark.

I wade a thousand miles out, the salt licks at my wounds.

And when I dive, the monsters weep

as I howl laughter at the moon.

Once there was a small, sad boy. He stopped me to ask “why?”

And in my eyes, the fire grinned