Gonna make myself a desert, still in the heat of the day.
Quiet like death, but alive with each breath that I take.
The night brings a wind that blows through me again,
howling, whispering Your Name.
Gonna make myself a desert.
Gonna make myself a desert, waking to each drop of rain
that descends from dark clouds into dust, washing the past away
in creosote dreams and quick-moving streams
flooding with power and pain.
Gonna make myself a desert.
Gonna make myself a desert: nothing borrowed, nothing owed
Gonna make myself a desert: never lost, never home
Gonna make myself a desert, a home for the rich and the poor
with skylight for ceiling and prickly pear poking up from the floor,
inviting the wise and the simple alike
to walk through a wide-open door.
Gonna make myself a desert.