Your voice is beginning to break up out here,
Sand storms brush over harsh desert terrain,
Looking back once more as my car expels smoke,
A water-color mirage that slowly stains,
I can only feel this suitcase in my hands,
Able to salvage the few things that remain,
I looked out to the storm clouded horizon,
Where phone lines stretch out as far as trains
There are no roots in this rocks and gravel,
Blood from the crash drips down my skin,
Hobbling along with broken glass like mirrors,
Reflecting the pain that for so long hurt within,
But the tortoise shell is only scared, not broken,
He is a fighter and will survive what comes,
It has crossed endless roads after the dust bowl,
A sacrificial walk that would be too much for some
Flat tires like footsteps on the side of the road,
Steps taken but not deep enough to brace,
An impact felt in hearts outstretched for miles,
Leaving this burned out wasteland without a trace,
Road kill sizzles as sweat drips from my skin,
Dust strikes me like being buried in the ground,
I'm losing touch with you and all that you say,
The winds have replaced static as the only sound
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