Oh, Gods of such dust-swept towns, grant me leave.
I raise my cup. Whilst holding apathy,
My only defense, stars fell from my sleeve.
Keep them, wary Lords. The lights turn shady.
Wander sacred lands of little renown
Loosened from the stifled lips of smarter men.
Rivers and streams to hide us from the hounds.
Just yonder. Cross these hills. Soles rubber thin.
I've brawled with bastards and hard-boiled brutes.
Friends have left me for loveless, decayed lands.
Ever onward, dirty toes dark as soot.
Relics lost within the folds of the sands.
High purpose kindly serve. Keep my fast feet free,
Else, I be damned for all eternity.
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