King of the Wasteland

I've sat on the shore to set my lands in order journeyed through the wild frontier travelled on the wasteland with all these breathing stones to hear my voice, to feel I've loved the whore, cut the throat of my healing with love without feeling empty hands touch is cold, its freezing alone without you stand on the open land my wasteland on your hand stand on the wasted land my quicksand on your hand I've fared through the shore where all hearts are broken sick to the core buried in sand my weary soul still calling for you not the whore stand on the open land my wasteland on your hand stand on the wasted land my quicksand on your hand stand on the open land my wasteland on your hand stand on the wasted land my quicksand on your hand