Ten miles from the well, we fell atop the desert grounds
with sand spurring out of our ear drums and sun rays marching down
to collect our final paychecks loosely written on a page.
This page broke theater domes and buildings that decay with an old day.

Ten miles from the well, we dropped our canteens to the floor
and just collapsed, just short of nothingness and hurting souls to sell.
We ate our last piece of bread at hand from a hand of wine,
turned the water into gasoline to poison us discreetly.

Minutes short of miles, the hills are dissippating
as the sun swallows its pride and crescent white takes over it.
Ten miles from our hearts we sang with raspy throats and quit our walk
to untraveled roads in an effort to get our skin to fit.

Folded path through heated wrath.
It's pretty when you close your eyes.
Folded cards on folded bench, with the bend behind your head.
It's beautiful when you decide to close your eyes.

Ten miles from our sight, we noticed we were colorblind
as day turned into night and the stars forgot to feed our light.
Ten miles of our life, we forgot to make things right
as chariots of guilt and greed came from behind us to deceive.

We broke our folded bridges, made of sticks and stones,
the skulls of the newborns lined the pathway.
With a sorrowed sigh, the desert gives in to one last cry
for the goodness to remind us that we chose to walk this way.

Folded path through heated wrath.
It's pretty when you close your eyes.
Folded yards on folded stench with this head behind the bend.
It's beautiful when we decide to close our eyes.
It's beautiful when we decide to close our eyes.
It's beautiful when we decide to open up our eyes.