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Not one damn person stands to offer A ride or a fine 'how do you do?' Out on the stretches Of those long and lonesome desert highways Young and rangy Not yet a tattooed canvas And not quite any longer A multi-colored, spiky haired punk Not that you could tell (from a passing vehicle) Wrapped in an Army Navy store field jacket Black, of course, my leather with hand painted longhorn skull Long since abandoned to storage Or some ex-girlfriend's domestic care Wouldn't do me any good anyway The heat of crossing a desert alone And on foot equivalent, at least to my urban mindframe, to walking across a lake of glass on fire And inside of a microwave oven I'm going to give y'all the benefit of the doubt It was the 80s on the cusp of the 90s And maybe you didn't have your internet set up right, at that time.... So you couldn't see the injustice The complete uncaring, The disregard for your fellow human being Be he (or she) white, black, brown, yell...
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