Dust Bowl Dream
Play a role till the gold of your soul runs dry.
Leave the ghost town far enough behind.
Through the parched winter of the mind
Search for virgin glitter on the next horizon.
The sirens sing to endless weaknesses.
It takes everything not to cave in... again.
Take up the rusted sifter and battered spade.
While digging for gold, you're making your grave.
Ghosts of old town, sliding down from the mountain.
Roses are tossed into the echoes of the lost.
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