Om shanti tra-la-lace,
empty head fulla space.

Mismatched mouth and mind,
squawking every word ya find.

Buncha penny-sized pupils --
spun-out "gypsies" popping pills.

When ya finally say what ya mean,
I'll be where I was with no in between.

Om shanti tra-la-lo
pack yer patchouli and go.

It's a vague sense of hopelessness,
like I'll never have my fun.
I'm not the only one that feels like this --
I can't be the only one.

She asked:
You know what's unfair?

I replied:
The sound of your voice and the smell of your hair.

If they should ask, after some uncertainty,
respond resonating a cadence of tranquility:
"Because I am young and life demands it of me."

I feel it growin' back again.
It's seepin' through my skin.
I thought I cut the root,
but it's bloomin' from the shoot.

She's tryin' to make me feel a fool
right when I finally found my cool.
She won't pull me outta control,
'cause she don't own this soul.

If you've got somethin' to say,
don't bite your tongue and spit on me.
If you've got somethin' to say,
don't choke on what might not even be.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

When you wake up woman,
don't be surprised with what ya see.
When you wake up woman,
I hope ya take it pleasantly.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I'll said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

Find your own forgiveness, babe.
Wash yourself beside the sea.
Find your own forgiveness, babe,
'cause ya won't get none from me.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

If I stay the night
in a city by the shore,
I'll do my best to wait inside,
not search for something more.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.

But if I meet her in the night
and she's staying in my home,
I'll try not to hold on tight
and let her move on alone.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.

If I'm drinking wine
and she's fillin' me with laughter,
I'll lie and say I'm fine.
Then not pursue her, after.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.