They say we've got to get back to the garden
We got to pull up the roots and wear them on our sleeves
But when you're truly feral, you're somehow still not free
The mud without the lotus, the ***** without desire
A soul asleep too long is born into dirt
Constructed from stale rain and hand-me-down-pain
One flick of the switch and you could have been hallowed
One cruel little trick and here you are hollow
The cosmic sadist and his moral compass
Gets off on selling sanctuary
A painter with the world as his canvas
A scientist with earth as his experiment
A ****** watching a glass-bowl of fish
An Aids avalanche, volcano cancer
Heartbreak earthquake, hurricane mistake
The rolling dice is our degree of pain
A black man's endowed to plant seeds of poverty
A white man's enshrouded with mental instability
Genetic karma makes the whole thing spin
Grandfather was a ****, now I'm paying for his sins
The spiritual adulteress, too busy playing cosmic chess
To feel an ounce of our unrest
Are you so smug, being shoved under big bosses rug
A door mat, a poor mouse, a *******
Why did you isolate the mind to breed fear and murky depths
Every second on this spinning plate is another little death
Where is the underground railroad of saints
Who excel in destroying decay
Are they wandering round Nod
Or stuck in some elevated mundane
Do you drink our limbo water, do you prefer aged ***
*If perfection's what they aimed for, then the only way is down