Stumbling on ashes,
gray goblin antics.
Faces fast, grin's quick to smack,
lash out,
call it 'romantics'.
Locked in illusion.
Felt safer in a public system or institution.
Got lost between one little and indie rap.
My headphones were misplaced,
and so was my backpack.
Then every now and again I wonder why I lose the race.
---
What's a word if I can't say it?
Man, these rules are so updated,
instated and replicated to the point where we're sedated.
In all honesty 'water pipe' just delays it,
yeah,
the fact that we're all faded.
swarms of smoke can't be debated.
Let it be stated,
that I'm talking about the blue dreams,
seers of beings that exist within our own seams.
remedies,
herbal mixtures of smooth pollen coated elixir.
fixer of any aliment,
headache to emotional malcontent.
And then you wonder why the man says they can't find a cure.
Instead of giving you what's pure,
they pollute the veins in the arms we use to salute the horseman's reigns.
They're making way more money off the sickness,
than they will ending the war.
Taking dollars off your interest,
making room in waiting rooms,
checking off who they'll ignore,
so we'll infest and swarm,
screaming,
pleading for more.
It's a tumor.
It's a growth.
It's a rumor.
It's remote.
No one's even heard it before and the bill's already wrote.
There's no end for the source,
but your pockets already broke.
They're taking your time and your money,
they must be waiting for you to croak.
Soak your head for minute.
Sit back relax and sip it,
spit it out,
verbal annihilation,
a sort of vacation,
or maybe you should just stick to the vocational meditation.
Maybe pick up a habit or two to mix up the mood.
Get the blood flowing.
Man,
it must be good to be you.
---
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