They are poor, hungry and headed one way
To a new-found freedom, a bite to eat
A prayer is the only light to guide their way
Most of them die, walking in the heat

The Migra chases them as they walk light in the sand
Nomad's wardrobe is just what’s on their backs
The walking ghost tracks of the lost on the desert sand
No water and little hope, they leave their tracks

Nothing is what they left behind, walking to maybe more nothing
Is it a journey to the end, or a new start
Tomorrow, will they be alive, what will tomorrow bring
They are poor but strong in heart

If they make it, make any money, what will happen then
Will the Migra steal it, what can they say
The poor coming to the rich man's world, the Lion's Den
The Walk of the Lost, all they can do is pray