The desert alone, is always alone,
             As solemn as solemn can be,
             And far from his home, there's a cowboy who roams,
             To ride out his destiny.

             The sun stays high, the sun stays low,
             And with it the temperatures range.
             Mile after mile and hill after hill,
             The cowboy sees nothing, no change.
 
             Once he's alone in the boiling sun,
             With no place of comfort to hide,
             No water, no horse and no hope of escape,
             His choice has been made, so he died.

             Somewhere out on that lonely plain,
             There's a grave being dug with ease.
             While the buzzards circle their personal claim,
             Aloof on a hot desert breeze.

             Let no man try the desert's haunts,
             Let no man try it's trials.
             For in the end and to the end,
             The miles compound the miles.

             Emptiness is as emptiness is,
             And the desert defines the same,
             With sand, with dune, with sun, with wind,
             And with graves that have no name.