(H) Arts

Wanted!

It's as if there's a bounty on me,

like my head is worth pure gold,

and they can't stop weighing its worth

with their mouth so bold.

They believe I'm a bandit, it's true,

for the chains and guns I wear in view.

A romantic with no love to claim,

living a life of desperate flame.

And they ride swiftly, fast as can be,

it's strange—in this desert, I once ruled free.

Like there was no tomorrow in a village so wild,

a fleeting dream where fate beguiled.

The Sun no longer feels the same,

but the heat I bear is a ruthless flame.

Ironically, though we endlessly sweat,

they only grows wet

whenever i'm arround.