Lying here,
Alone in my bed,
It’s like a vast desert,
With sand a burnt red.

This feeling of emptiness,
Of sleeping alone,
It’s just like a tumbleweed,
By the desert winds blown.

To look at it moving,
It seems but so free,
But there’s a side of the tumbleweed,
That people don’t see.

With it constantly moving,
You see but a glance,
But when it stops dead,
You see there’s no chance.

Nothing to hold to,
No roots to plant firm,
That’s why it keeps moving,
‘Cause there’s nowhere to turn.

If the wind were to stop,
And things were to change,
Then maybe that tumbleweed,
Could make home on the range.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information

The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.