want me to sing classic psychedelic rock for them all night
this wouldn't really be so bad
if it came without all the redundant chatter
I've also got tired playing for my echo in the wall
so I'll stroll over to see the traffic on Bloor street
I don't know why I still get a kick from all these people
sitting about mundane while racing into space
Just yesterday, locking my bike in front these steps
one of them and I, ended getting all steaming into each others face
sometimes two peoples different idea of what is their right
means it's gonna be compromise or fight to maintain your space
I grew up on the magnetic labyrinth
the field is international
and you have to recognize the energies to follow
if you want to forge a path
the orgasm could be eye of god
could be tree of life
mushroom cloud
crystallization through kitsch
you have to make the rules up
as you go along in it
Even today in my storefront bedroom apartment
painting a picture of the jazz
the radio's still spinning me cowboy and indian tales
our little boys hollywood romance while growing up
is now politics babbled about on the evening news
If I can be polite in the blazing noon heat about the gas in my brain
how does someone get the raging, yelling at me a 'homo hippie' fear, if all I do is spit
oh look here comes on her rounds this blocks blessing
somehow it got natural to think the 'clinically' insane makes good ground for friendship
can't help but find some kind of respect for that despondent swagger style
when you see the busy crumble in guilt from a simple request for change
she’s still got that raiding the men’s sweat lodge on peyote while down in New Mexico essence
as she tries to poke at some kind of truth in your pocket
You know I think I'm going to take that deal on the scooby-doo and swastika stickered dry guitar
from that sentimental man always roaming by, who says he prefers to play in Spanish
if I can't find something sweet to come out of it
I imagine enjoying some kind of rigorous humour
getting myself into playing
the solicitude against our urbane graces
As it is
the sun imprisons the moon
around my iris
seeing all the time kind
gets exhausting
chasing celestial bodies
I mean you got to go
far out
but I wouldn't have my heaven
any other way
« return.