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