You sit on a concrete ledge
Right on the veranda edge
Glazed white with a jagged chip
Where the morning coffee drip
You are the ceramic guard
Watching over this dry yard
Holding heat in a clay shell
Knowing every desert spell
The Santa Fe wind blows red
While the motel guests are fed
You watch the blue buses roll
Keeping a steady control
You are the ceramic guard
Watching over this dry yard
Holding heat in a clay shell
Knowing every desert spell
A small stain of brown on your rim
The afternoon light grows dim
You see the gold vultures glide
With nowhere left for them to hide
You are the ceramic guard
Watching over this dry yard
Holding heat in a clay shell
Knowing every desert spell
Wait for the flash of the lens
Where the long highway road ends
Cold wind hits the hollow bone
Standing out here all alone
You wait for a hand to reach
A lesson the salt flats teach
Still holding the ghost of a brew
Just waiting for someone like you
You are the ceramic guard
Watching over this dry yard
Holding heat in a clay shell
Knowing every desert spell
Just a snap of the shutter.
Keep the heat in the clay. Hold it still.
Hold it still.
