Thirsty

The ocean turns and churns itself,
While the winds blow bitter south.
And as the thistle pricks my skin,
the dagger digging deep within;
My throat is dry,
I take a drink,
no help here,
salt grits in my teeth.
My tongue and lips and throat go numb.
I can't speak, my mouth is dumb.
But as the vultures gather round,
I can hear the sacred sound:
"Come and drink"
No thanks, I'm not thirsty.

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Here is one of Randy's songs. If you'd like to e-mail him about it, here is the address: college_dood02@hotmail.com