Hook him up to the machine. Shock his brain into mediocrity. Death stalks him; he is aware. There is too much flash in his eyes. His brain needs a reboot; he needs to forget, like a goldfish, like a monkey in the zoo. Hook him up to the machine. He is too sentimental. Salmon swim in his blood; he has a paisley heart, and a tie-dye soul. He can smell colors. Hook him up to the machine. He has Van Gogh eyes, and a Bukowski gut; he walks like he's lost in a maze; hunchback sadness, butcher knife nerves, Hook him up to the machine. He believes in love, and has too much trust. His vivid green memory is a curse, we need to crash it, **** the eternal spring. Hook him up to the machine.