The old city of dirt and nowheres

If it wasn't for the sun that burnt more than my flesh...
Its always the same feeling that keeps everything from the heat...
Air that burns the lungs with each breath...
Where to run out of gas, better places could be thought where to waste time...
Somewhere where the grass doesn't burn a dull yellow...
The occasionally breaks up throught the dead grass, with its warn and used grey brown color...
No white cloud would bless this dry place with shade...
It would like this for this or my generation...
Where my life won't be planted...

The price of civilization

Broken roads breaking into sand...
Under feet like the wheels of fighting armies...
Ones that cross from one dry ocean to the next...
While the first men are forced to watch as theirs lives end...
Only able to grit their teeth at the locoust...