Dust particles rolling through the wind
The orange stank seeping into the noses
The Southern Belles waving their fans,
for a glimpse of freedom from the summer's breathe
Orange sand pouring from the mouths of zealots
Captives having their last meal,
praying to a God they had forsaken long ago
The Southern Belles whispering in their Bible Study,
As they age in the stank they believed they were saved from long ago
Only the dead understand the balance,
The ones who have decomposed
We are nothing more than the stank
We spend a lifetime to erode and turn into dusk within the wind
To turn into orange sand to be gulped up and spit out once again
But the Southern Belles still be praying
The zealots still be preaching
And captives still fear the outlaw country