Sandstorm

I'm left guarding open gates
Sent out a den of thieves that came back empty
This is a dangerous place
Straight off the page
But I am no writer
At the very most a mislead poet

I fell flush with my road side grave
I fell flush with my road side grave
I am paralyzed from the weight of this
Precious time was lost because of mountains which we missed

Open the gates, I won't be saved
Open the gates, I won't be saved
I swear, I won't be the person that is killing me
I swear, that I won't be the person that is killing me

And I've been a cold and bitter man
Sent out a den of thieves
That came back emptier than when they left

On that day I died a cold, bitter man

Blow me away, take all that's left