The scars of lashed beasts,
The tears of casual interception,
And the thin twigs for nimble legs,
The feet callused and bare,
A heart swept up as it's found,
Red sand in the dunes.

The scars of past beasts,
The tears of little men out of sight,
An the soft featured face they fall from,
I'm merely just the red dust I pick up as it's found.