Untitled: dried up

The money's run out. The bottom of the well fell down. The bucket's rusted and the wheel is cracked and the rope is frayed and the mortar's been pulled out. Drop by drop the well goes dry and nobody understands why. If you give it away, they'll take it away, and who can say they put any back? Not me, I only took, and now I'm so thirsty my limbs are shook and shaken and quaking and drying out until the blood blows through my veins like a thirsty dustbowl twisted and the money's never coming back. We can break our backs digging a new well, but we won't find any water, or oil, or gas, just earthquakes and cracks where our homes and families used to be.