Classic Poem

I wanted to die in the desert,
I planned it for twenty year;
Alone with my God and my conscience,
And not a sky-pilot near.

I meant what I said when I doped it,
For it threw a spell over me.
Its mesas, its sand, and its deadness —
It was the place I wanted to be.

I've hoofed with my jack all over it;
I've stood on the brink of hell;
I wooed it, I coaxed it, I fought it,
And was caught in its deadly spell.

I said when I croaked that I'd go
To the desert to find my hole,
With snakes and toads to watch over me,
And my headstone a yucca pole.

But the death I've cheated so often
Has pulled its freight into town,
And I can't get back to the desert;
I'm broke — not a penny — I'm down.

Life is a burden and not worth the while;
So I'll play the ace up my sleeve.
It's poison — quick stuff — and Saint Peter;
Adios to the world I leave.

Just throw my old hide in the cactus,
Out where the desert wind moans;
For I wanted to die in the desert,
Where the buzzards would peck at my bones.