[Verse] Driving through a graveyard of sand and wind, spitting out the dust of every sin. I’m chasing a place where the night never fades, where shadows reign and debts are paid. The devil owns these roads, his whispers sink into my veins. I took his game, laid it all down, bet on nothing, and lost the same. [Pre-Chorus] Now he’s behind me, blood on his breath, counting every promise left for dead. But that fool doesn’t know the trick I played— this was all a bluff, a masquerade. [Chorus] A wasteland burns beneath my wheels, rivers of ash carve haunted trails. Kicking up smoke, kicking up scars, a cursed wanderer chasing stars. I’m damned and dealing my own fate, threading the moon through a noose of hate. Every mile leaves me torn apart, a broken gambler with a shattered heart. [Instrumental Solo] [Verse] I pull up to the crossroad, the air is steel, the place where I sold what I thought was real. Step out slow, the devil’s already there, with his grin of fire and a hollow stare. I tune my strings, her voice is sharp, she hums a sound that breaks the dark. The devil thinks he’s won tonight, but I’ll bleed the blues into the fight. [Pre-Chorus] His guitar burns like a funeral pyre, his fingers quake as he fans the fire. He growls, “Play!” with a voice like stone, so I answer with notes that crack his bones. [Chorus] A wasteland burns beneath my wheels, rivers of ash carve haunted trails. Kicking up smoke, kicking up scars, a cursed wanderer chasing stars. I’m damned and dealing my own fate, threading the moon through a noose of hate. Every mile leaves me torn apart, a broken gambler with a shattered heart. [Instrumental Solo] [Outro] We face each other like shadows and flame, trading riffs in a battle with no name. My chords cut deeper, his fire fades thin, but no one escapes, no one ever wins. The devil sweats blood, his strings unravel, my arpeggios carve through his endless gravel. The blues screams loud, a hymn of despair, as the devil burns, dissolving in the air. [A Cappella] The blues cries out like a sinner’s plea, from those who lost themselves for free. They played their hands, they tricked the beast, but every bet with the devil still leaves a feast. [A Cappella] The blues
