Have you ever been to Deeprath?
The origin of your glasses.
The heat behind your furnace?
In Soviet Rush Her
Russia. I am sorry.
In Deeprath I know your name.
I know your face. I know the
color of your tongue and do not know
the color of your eyes outright before
I draw my pistol. Cue tumbleweed.
Cue music. Cue horrocity. Cue shells
captured in the three five seven barrel.
High noon.
Bring a good poncho, my brother.
Have you ever been to Deer Path?
Cut 'em down on the desert sand
somewhere southwest from here.
