trippin on a drug called power
elevated from the ground like sky high towers
turning mortal men into monsters
turning gardens of goodness into demonic dumpsters
turning flowers of love into ****** barbwire
slow soul subtraction assets quickly turn to loss
turn a snot nosed punk into a shot calling big boss
turning stations and twisting knobs
small tin soldiers turn into genocidal gods...
with powerful rods of wrath and revenge
creeping death on the end of a syringe
on a neverneding binge burned and synged and set to devour
trippin on a drug called power


false prophets,preachers, and puppets bring that ridiculous revival
on sweaty sin stages of strength and mad survival
slaves and kings on ropes and pullies
helmets head get struck with bullets
and prisoners of pain they wither into nothing
strong ones die like there's no tomorrow
trippin on a drug called power


i rise like the sun and fall down to my knees
that drug called power leaves me dark and diseased
the heartless warden laughs as he dangles the keys
he screams like a ****...."WORK WILL MAKE YOU FREE"
i die like the grass and toxic trees
i swim with the fish in a cyanide stream
satan feasts on my flesh...he grins and he seethes
seconds and minutes march on to meet that final hour
trippin forever on a drug called power.

invisible waves of movement
moving between the lines of my mind
searching to find
the experience just around the corner
things feel fast
but look so slow
but in time will blend to become the world i know
everything's fresh and new
and a mystery
on a different frequency
tune in to see
what's lifted me

At the end
of the world
when all is done
and all the games are played,
there's one last thing
I'd like to do
and that's to just get laid.


I don't want that slam bam stuff
where everything's done in whiff
no, I just think it ought to take
a decade or so of stiff.


I'm not asking
for much at all
but wanting
to feel again
the wet hot heat
of a jet ski seat,
the gentle turn
of a fin.


Soap and suds
and beds and charms
and candles all lit in stream
with music staged and pillows caged
and everything played mid beam.


That tripping funky
mushroom hat
and bags of elfin toys
now where was it left
that rock was cleft
that opens just for women


Maybe out there
on acid too
a girl will think like me
and she will think it
grand to say,
"Let's head out
to the sea and sail like what you are
a buccaneer."

I dreamt of a girl
in a fireplace.
Curled inside
its cold recess,
she slept the sleep
of the innocent
while I stood outside,
powerless.
But the flames
wouldn't spark
and the girl slept on,
fetus-like.
Perhaps she dreamed
of a birthday cake
or of a woman watching
the darkness at play.
Perhaps she was the smoke
poured from my addled brain.


For there are times it
seems too sick a fate
to be a parent on
this cold, dark stage.
Where every lick
of what if
dances nearer upon
this matchstick life..