The Ghost Town

Time has stopped, for those who lived there, they were born to die
He therefore wanders, like a starving jackal, beneath the desert sky
Every rotten door he knocked on, crumbled, hinges seized with rust
Guarding the secrets within, for outside there was only swirling dust
He'd passed through before, but was repelled by their crude aspersions
Ousted back into the wastelands, as they prayed behind closed curtains
Seared by the low desert sun, his misguided life became insanely vague
The only memory that was certain, was he cursed them with the plague
They've gone now, 'cept for the shades, for nothing's alive in the valley
On the empty streets is tumbleweed and wind-whipped sand in a ballet
Wandering from the ghost town, he hides himself underneath a hood
Not knowing his future destiny, but always knowing where he's stood