Dull, soundless, mud wrapping around soles of the relentless walker. Hoping she'll grow tired just like those of her past, her tears pave the way. Causing her own self destruction but running from the fate which has beckoned.
Which do you choose?
Indecisive mind of woman can't be swayed by the words or mud of her own sorrow, the blood will mix with the ground she must follow. Mirages guide her faith, seeing the footprints burnt into the sand of past believers. Sink now, into the hot sands. May your tears dry before you're shown your worn hands.