Wake up vibrations, stroke us kindly, we’ll all be one someday, singularity is just a timepiece. Gotta sell the diamonds to calibrate the cogs, we’re digits livin in clogged colons. We cure MONOtony, with medicinal MONOgamy, mourning the cut cord of civility.
Oh, how I miss the vibrations of those tribal jam sessions. Maybe cause I didn’t record them with voice memo boxes. We’re living in boxes. Driving in boxes. Working in boxes. Staring at boxes. But beauty is roundness. So help me measure the circumference of your face, because I can’t tell where it begins and ends. I will knit you a beenie come winter. And we’ll skate upon this lake, willing the ice to break. Cause we are done being fake. We are done telling people where they should skate. We are holding her hand and his hand and our own hand when we hold hands. Black Red White Yellow they are all hands with the power to give and to take, not just orate. So give the politicians the ******* and then join hands break down rectangular gates. Then, meditate. We will wait for utopia, but we won’t stand for things being the same. And come spring when we re-awake, we'll draw up a new constitution for a consciousness revolution.