Strings on a Cross

I left my tent

Six strings attached to my bag

Through my binoculars

I have seen poetries and ghosts in the air

Ignore the heat of the sand

And wounds upon your hands

Oh, wait, remember the land is holy

For one hundred days

I've been looking for a way

And fighting my thirst

Imaginary lakes

Blue lights, don't you hide from me

The strings are rusty and stiff

There is no melody to sniff

Fingers turned into a fist

And tried a knuckle duster

In the yellow haze

The north and the south

Look exactly the same

So I'm lying down

Let the bees and the spiders

Lie on my skin

Don't try to figure the cause

I will never get applause

This time it isn't a pause

This time I'm learning

My strings on a cross

My strings on a cross

My strings on a cross

My strings on a cross

My strings on a cross