LIII.

Shout to the sky for all that you're worth.
It's a simple, kind concoction of spanglish and earth.
I'd never seen it coming from the miles afar.
It's a grade school combination of vinyl and tar.
Look out below or make way for the crash.
It's an easily mixed congeal of cynics and ash.
Hoist up the flag and buckle down this land.
It's an elementary blend of paint chips and sand.

This is nothing without water.
I am nothing without water.