ayyy dawn on the hours homies be hanging round like they wanna talk bout something we'd be riding to west like- shucks. we got in a paddy. smoking the weed like the buck's in the handy no bars for the candy. all we saw was the raging bloom. we should've just had some cans of beers for the dried up well. the things we needed was really somewhere else not even a bath for the sun was taking all the water away the bro's are turning red upon the eagles gaze arrival to a land with houses torn the sand looked frickly like a broken down door we asked the people there " where the horses are stored" they would put a scary glare and close up the door no matter how we even tried nobody would care cause they only would believe on the lives we spared we had no choice but to walk the heat of this land we walked all the way until the waters all died illusions of the pond with sparkling water tried to take a sip but alas-the sun dried it further dreams! we would imagine how we could have survived this well if only we agreed to not pickle with hell if we had the water enough to wash our throats we would have reached the land of the soubering youths the stories say that it has it's own fountains maybe it was luck that they have it in doses we would rather need a more like a sea of glaze where we could drink water with some salt as the base maybe some fishies would do the dream of having a cold beer with fish from the stream sushis sound nice for a bickering old man we would need that man to make the mood feel brand like hell we are surviving through it all this sand is hotter than the oven i had i asked for the fishies cuz im burning on rage and this sand of the fury could make bbq ablaze to the future of us may our dreams be fold cuz we would be actually dreaming if our stories would only be told