When the son-in-law
(who should remain nameless)
Is a clone
Of the father-in-law,
(whom should also remain nameless),
The son-in-law
Lies in an incestuous bed,
And the father-in-law
Gets a vicarious jump
On the wing
(the west one)

transcendental mediation
psychic transportation
going somewhere sitting still
turn on tune in
go and never leave
not just your mind has been decieved
sticking flowers in a gun
are we all now having fun
pet sounds, sgt pepper
each one just a little better
trippy hippy
close the door
open another
go and never leave
hear one truth
and then another
who do you believe
watching light
and floating colours
smelling sunshine hues
watching children
scream in horror
on the network news
trippy hippy

It's always the bat-****, rabid dog
crazy ones that will put up a really
good front when you first meet them.
You're always amazed at how normal they appear.
They are intelligent, hold down jobs, drive Volvo's;
maybe they even have children that they
seem to take care of.  They pay bills,
celebrate holidays and have houseplants.
They might even have a
dog or a cat, or a sickly looking bird in a cage.
But, just underneath the false facade of
lucid smiles, lurks a whack-job from hell.
They make Sybil and Lizzie Borden look
like Mother Theresa.

If you find yourself with one of these
women, don't confront them, it only
makes matters worse, and could prove deadly.
Just smile and nod, and slowly back out
the door.  Don't stop until you see the
Pacific Ocean.  Get in and wash yourself off.
Your safer with the sharks and the riptide.

My dear,

the scars in your body is a map
and a living proof

of how far you've gone
and how you survived

despite every madness
and chaos that restrain you

And just like waves;
this too shall pass

Tap out, tap in, tap into me
Holy water, maple syrup
Geyser of ecstasy
*** in me