Fistfull of Sand

Up from the sands of the mighty
Sahara comes, our hero bold,
who so its told, is a lot like you
and me. His passion burns, the
world it turns, he fills his had to fill
the void, and fuels the constant
feeling, of nothingness insided his
soul.
Feels like nothing ever did.
Kills like nothing ever could.
Dark and jaded world I hated,
everything I left behind. I don't
need you, and I dont want you,
world that left me blind.
Beneath the sands of the mighty
Sahara lies, buried treasure
sunken deep in darkened tombs
where dead men sleep. Gold fills
hands, or is it sand, the same that
covers everything? Where cities
stood, soon deserts found, now
sink beneath the swelling ground.
The world is for the taking. This
world is suffocating. Plastic bags
of novacain, some PCP to kill the
pain. Build a tomb to store you
rust, moth-eaten piles of blowing
dust.
Uner the sands of the mighty
Sahara, goes our hero bold,
in search of gold, a casket for a
dying world. Our hero stands,
with wealth in hand, the prize for his
endeavors. The masses cheer, to
hide thier fears that no man lives
forever.