Let'***** the road
my partner in crime
lets load up our guns
burn our I.D.'s
and hop on the first
freight train headed south
to Mexican tequila
and the baking sun and sand
living life in flashes of violence
like lightening pitch forks in the sky
streaking across the barren places
which are yet to be tamed by man
we'll gun down sheriffs and posses
and **** cheap mescal
and gulf water
and dust
keeping each other safe
in the low din of the early morning
as an orange fire flickers against
burning out to embers,
so vulnerable to the wind,
against all odds still burning
and we will wake before the sun
and find somewhere
where we no longer
feel the need to run