The white lines stretch into the heat,
Where asphalt and the desert meet.
The radio plays a scratchy blues,
To help me shake the heavy news.
I drive to nowhere, drive to flee,
From all the things inside of me.
The open road, a lonely friend,
That doesn’t have a stopping end.
Ethan blends Southern gothic themes with the lyrical cadence of acoustic music. His poetry is dusty, raw, and full of character, often telling the stories of wanderers, broken hearts, and the long, lonely stretches of...
The Spanish moss hangs from the tree,A haunting, weeping canopy.The swamp is thick, the air is still,Beneath the...
The needle spins and will not rest,Upon its brass and polished chest.I’ve lost the North, I’ve lost the...