I'm trekkin' long the 1 3 8
and I can see a way up South
a canyon where some minds matter
and friars maybe still foster pears
and peaches the size of your fist...
But that ain't my destination,
I've no quest to quench up there.
I'm just another misfit in the Mojave
with sand pits in my Ray-Bans
and Jiminy Crickets all up in my grill...
I got no particular purpose
but to chase the sagebrush today,
all day, at Ninety-Seven M P H.
And, like the Sun so full of hate
slipping off to scorch another nation
beyond that blinding horizon,
I could give two shits
if Charlie or Bono or Jim
found their gritty cheshire inspiration
out of this tumbleweed desperation
now rolling, scratching and screaming
so fervently against my progress
yet fading so pointlessly past
my solitary god likeness...
This asphalt ribbon's slitherin' ahead,
undulating like a steaming Leviathan
breaching that waverin' mirage.
Reaching out t'wards its thirsty bed,
chasing the speed of Sound,
its coward's stripes metronome
D A N G E R
in a visual Morse code,
so I center line up
like David Lee Roth
crazy from that Columbia heat,
and ease the seat back...
And I'm running...
with the sullen bloody Moon
and the absolute proof of the Universe
dawning behind me grasping
gaining, hot in Hell Hound pursuit,
and the Wind's begun awailin'
against my shield...
Up ahead...
The horizon is fleeting
and the Sun is quickly bleeding out
so belligerently, I flip a bitch
as tho I've a problem with tomorrow
and my ashen steed growls and howls
along with the maniacal laughter
of it's white knuckled driver
who, joking murderously,
lowers Will Thatcher's lance sayin'
"I think you and I are destined to do this
forever"...
So sudden comes the night...
that the Desert drops it's heated argument,
favoring a cold shoulder to the victor.
And I and the cacti shudder in passing
as we live a breath in Her splendor...
Headlong in my flight...
within Her stoic Immenseness
the only animal howls you hear
are echos from ah undred species
ah undred years before warning
all creatures, even the Greens
and Diamondbacks,
to "Hide your daughters!"...
from Me.
So cavalier I
Drop the windows,
Finger up the volume,
Grip the wheel
and Stomp my right foot
so far into that grave
you'd think I had 60000 pounds of thrust
diggin' that fuckin' hole.
