The Trip
Great brick glass arches
My toungue and hips peeling
These swirls of tripped-out lightning
Titilate and frighten
And I feel
To be
In a strange daze
Wasted just like the old days
Anxious to curl up and crawl away
But then distracted by another face
Leads me to another place
And I feel
To be
In a strange daze
