There is a break in the galactic tide
Once every thousand years
I said goodbye to my little island of birds
I set my sail and strapped in
Dead or alive, I had to try
Folks back home can’t fathom this place
They laugh and roll their bloodshot eyes
The Black Veldt is only darkness
Only the old toads belong here
They dig deep in the frozen mud
Humming their rainbow hymns
They watch me in silence
They are suspicious of me
I am an imposter, a vagabond
One more duster, here for the dust
I’ll smoke a little and sell the rest
The toads won’t bother to stop me
I’m a senile old man now, broken
Only my hands remain
The rest of my body hacked away
Pieces scattered throughout the galaxy
It’s hard to give up your hands
Scars on top of scars, gnarled, cracked
Your hands are your story

Next:
The Outpost