Where on every street is a fair,
With people oh so old,
with people with so much hair
The hair that can scare...
The old folks are always at foot,
Oh so good people are ever alm-begging.
Dried,completely dried-
The barren land,
Trees like witches stare,
No water no money, nothing.....
Nothing but turban men,
Finding ways, thumping sticks,
Stretching arms all the while.
Where creeps cactii out from the crumbled
grounds,
No flowers and no scent,
Alone the barren,cracking,shrinking land.....
But we just wish red-rosed trees,
And violet mists,
And orange grass,
With freezing dew drops twinkling green....
But there is nothing-nothing at all,
There in the lands of west. |
