At the edge of the world there's a wayward wind
and it comes from who knows where
Blows in circles and comes up your back
tugging at your shirt like a persistant child

Something moves as sage scrubs the air
Jack rabbits scurry into their dens
The moon's a reluctant visitor behind the clouds
The river runs down and speaks in slow moans
like the train in the distance
that sounds so lonesome you could cry

In the shadows you can make out a shape
but it is formless, void of light
Some say the devil roams here and snatches souls
But first he has to get through your tough hide
Years of sandblasting can do it though
and the sound of your voice in the wind

Cliffs rise up from the river in sentimented layers
By day, you see how high it once roared through
before they built the dam to harness her power
and you can just make out ghost riders in the sky
A rattler's shake will wake you from your reverie

Some have tried to farm here but it's a rough hoe
The rocky, sandy soil is good for some things
but what grows will probably be eaten by animals
Crazy, don't they know it's the end of the world?
But I suppose that's just why they are here...

(c) Linda Gayton 2006