Mirage

Judas… hung himself with his own rope

The heat caused him to lose control

Everything he wanted was just out of reach

Just think of him, that poor poor soul.

I know that you can spend days out in the sun

Work a picket, work a shovel, work a ‘hammer

Walk the line up and down, wipe the sweat away

Whatever you do remember to drink your water

There’s a shock of green over the horizon

Further away than you can get tonight

Try and sleep, try and rest before you go

That mirage will still be there at morning light

The heat makes you tired, so tired of moving

So hard to keep going, lifting your legs

Too tired to lift your head at the cry of a bird

So hot that you stumble wiping sweat from your brow

Weeks ago you sat by an ocean and the breeze

Kept you cool under a thatched roof, seated

On a bright white lounge drinking iced cold

Rum and fruit juice, no worries even over the horizon

Circumstances change, the world spins you over

That horizon comes closer, then is suddenly seen

In your rearview mirror, those deep blue and green

Waters and the tourists laying in the sand

Off in the distance now a buzzing sound, louder then

Softer, whirs and whorls shorter and longer but no rhythm

Machine sounds but no machine to be seen

Heat tempers the volume in waves of sand

There is no tablecloth on which to eat your meal

To keep your food and forks and dishes clean

Only the heat to make you sweat, no napkins to wipe

The beads away, to make you forget everything ever seen.