Endlessly the desertfarer sails the night.
He stands for us. He does not sleep. He does not stop.
Because he is the guardian of ten thousand fluorescent cities
where those who know the face of God are quietly, sweetly sleeping.

He stands in his tower. He sees the heat. He flies.
Far away from everything, for that skinny bastard
falling in the Texan sand
two rounds of an assault shotgun are the sound of Democracy.

Now he cannot trim the gardens of those who know what God looks like.


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