I am a wandering tribe of one
Lost in this brick Desert.
Will I wander aimless 40 years?
Or is there something to be learnt?
What is the point of wandering here,
With no apparent end?
The purpose of the suffering and fear,
Are there holy fences I must mend?
Dunes make terrible companions,
Not even giving echoes back.
I much prefer the canyons,
Lone howls they turn into a pack.
I do not see a mountain,
Upon which to call my Mistress.
So I wonder further still,
Feeling always restless.