TMD..Too many dreams, not enough dreamers.
DMT
Transcendent level of realities,
neurological radio transmitting divine consciousness to filter out daily fallacies.
Collapse in consciousness, Dismantle the physiological boundaries to achieve the pinnacle of a conglomeration of spiritual transformation.
Reconnect with spirit,
So help us Gaia, so help us universal nexus. Without even seeing you, i feel it deeply in my solar plexus,
That we are all connected---
And through our hearts we are protected, we are alive and have been selected to march towards a new paradigm, each soul duly elected;
through this process of love, and support from the synchronicity club,
cleaning up sin city’s pub with our rhymes
Going through  lines and lines of authentic self cravers…. just to deal with jah created vacuums of reverse lasers wielded by ravers.

******’s thoughts to be psychonauts,
Hiding doubts without the slightest worries
Your mind’s a box, minuscule with so many boundaries
But mine is vibrant, vividly stylish and keeps recurring
The past is blurry, barely searching, yea I think u heard me

The skell of the bass leaves zinn in his place
So witness what’s great, see its simply sinful so straight
We empty bliss into our systems till we hallucinate
And then we’re up for days, blazed and drained, turned insane
Time to recuperate

Truth is paradox, Fancy words in a box
Experiential knowledge overlookin the edge

Speak of time as a mystery of the mind
Vivid skies make you realize there is never a bind

Perception of life, simply reflection
Present moment with a longer extension
Don’t even mention your problems
Because We already solved em.

Mescaline and bliss sends me to heaven but with drips
Mix them together nice, chop it fine and I'm ready to commit
Never thinking twice not hesitant, not I
Meditation to astral projection, its my nature to fly

In this world you have to take what you can find for fear of someone ripping it from your grasp in some desperate act of power.  Knowing this, I would give mine away before the final hour.  What a cruel game we play, torturing the self with a recreation of falsified rules.  We can never create until we imagine the tools.

I am not the prophet, but I can still predict the future.
I am not the savior, but I can point out the vulture.
The martyr selfishly lives vicariously through the lives of his followers.

Bored in a solar system
I see the greatest kingdom
Geometric, moving pattern
Static coughing
orbit Saturn

Hold that ****,
true words spoke
Realize that life a joke.