I met her on a highway to, nowhere,
My mouth was dry and my throat was numb, ain't need eyes to see,
I was chasing butterflies and kissin' the floor, dreamin' of some cheap whores,
And baby I tell you'll run forevermore,
Dreamin' of crystal shores,
In the sandlines of the Sonora,
Oh La Llorona,
And as my spirit floats away, floatin' towards that godless gray,
I learned to curse the day I was born,
Forlorn, above the empty sands,
And I can't, feel my hands as I, drift away,
From this, haunted land,
As bonedust is lifted in the wind,
In my, many, travels,
I met a, cockaroach,
He told me, to envy the dead,
For the weeds grow long, and the sun burns on,
Like an insects high wire hum,
And baby I tell you'll run forevermore,
Dreamin' of crystalline shores,
In the sands of the Sonora,
Aggressive punky folk and strange experimental folk hailing from the the urban necropolis of Phoenix, Arizona and it's barren suburbs. Dry, dead, and blunt, just like the Sonora.
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