Sittin' on a cloud high over the lonesome Black Hills.
They stretch into quiet to the hole that the Badlands fill.
Sometimes it feels like nothing, other times so much more.
Like when you dance upon the dust of the lonesome Badlands floor.
When you drift across the sky of dyin' stars and new ones born.
Sometimes it's burnin' heat beatin' Hell upon my face.
Sittin' on a fence of twistin' and rusted razorwire.
The morning bird was singing a song for the old day that expired.
Driftin' down a dirtroad of dyin' days and new ones born.
I will meet you there, the dust is where we all return.
When you drift across the sky of dyin' stars and new ones born.