Unmoist is his tongue.
          Sahara, Sahara, do you recall the things he's done?
          Thy will testitamate of all the wrong songs sung.
           Blind fun; unknowingly following the fallen one.
             Feet bare, sand underneath exposed to the heat.
                      The vultures circle, closer they creep.
                They see only what you choose to be...flesh.
                          -They will pick you like the rest-
                 Know you shrivel by choice, free is your will.
          Why must you stand still, afraid to climb the sand hill?
        Nonexistent mirages in the distance calling in persistence, offering guiltless luxuries; or so they say.
      Be blind or open your eyes, look up, where the king of kings     resides.
     The sun is at its highest, where no shadow can hide. No they  don't dare try, for his father also stands beside.
                              Shining truth on their lies.