simple, painful steps across the sand
no mounting hope, only infinite sorrow
the looking pack, married to wanting
so deep, the sand sinks into itself
and there, beyond the fringes of the desert
of our mild-mannered destiny
we wait and we pine
for the desert to slip away
for the gentle rain of forgiveness to atone
for the past's many wrongs
and for the night to clear
so we may return, tired and hungry,
to our warm beds at home
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