Desert Rat

I wrote this poem as a song about a year ago. I drew the images just recently.

He's got his clothes and food in his pack.

Sand in his toes and a sunburn on his neck.

He's going in the canyon and never coming back.

And that's just the way it goes for 'ol Desert Rat.

His boots are in the gravel and he's out on his way.

Freeze in the night, burn up in the day.

He's headed down the trail, down every switch back.

That ain't no concern for the 'ol Desert Rat.

The sun rises up, he crawls out of his tent.

Ain't no map gonna know where he went.

Gonna brew the black coffee down in his food sack.

"This is the way to live," says the 'ol Desert Rat.

Now when it's time to head out, he keeps the perfect pace.

Cuz you can't head fast back to the rat race.

And he ends his final march, and says, "I'll be back,

I know where I belong. I'm the 'ol Desert Rat."