I should tell you how I think of you. I will one day, again, send my love to you over the fresh desert that our southern region will become.

Do not misunderstand me, I see the desert beauty, but you can not hold a cacti nor so comfortably lie in this sand waste land.

In pushing to prosper and chasing our dreams we’ve forgotten to whisper our lovers to sleep.

We will live beyond our means, destroying our childhood dreams, for I pass my son a torch to burn and not a spade to dig.