badlands.
the clay that i am made of
crumbles back into the landscape.
it's gully dry
and sunset will surely catch me,
wrap me in a blanket
of badlands hospitality.
this mother nature's cradle
is full of nettles and shale
but my boots keep moving,
through the badlands
through the undergrowth
which is the only growth
around these parts.
this glorious colour pallette
ain't gunna save me
when every road i walk on
keeps crumbling into dust.
i blend with the canyons
as distant mesas forshadow
the way through the badlands
and it ain't no sin to be glad to be alive.
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