warm at night

barbed wire is my greatest asset and a big mean invisible alligator is my only friend

said the wanderer hunched over somewhere in the back middle left corner of the cantina

soft patches grew on his face left in in difference in a desperate attempt to formulate some sort of badge

his trail was not as dusty as it could have been, he only saw the ages and ages of dirt strewn out in front of him

give me water i am parched from the desert but he speaks little more though he has so much to think about

the man only discusses with the pure, pure sheets of looseleaf

he defiles them almost everyday with his nasty black pen black and smeared from his blackened hands, sooted by the fire

he has written so much on the fire, stolen though it be. he builds a totem to it every night and lets it die. 

I BUILD THE FIRE he screams, moans it next. he claps his hands together again and again and again to -show- the people to show them what he is capable of

the soot in the air would choke them if they were even breathing.

the sleepy fools in the bar fail to wake up, fail to take notice, they're covered in just as much dust as everything out

he pats the nearest sleeper on the back, those hands don't even bother to let that man know he'd been there

that majestic wanderer wouldn't give him the pleasure, they wouldn't even know how to take it but if you want to see him you will see the tall boy out at nights he will be crouching near a fire, afraid to lay his spine to the ground but not afraid to let that fire die if only for a day