The problem with the tribe these days,
they pay too much attention to the burning man,
driving out to remote desert islands,
to watch the note crumple under the pressure,
flying over mountains to witness their transformation into a volcano.
I’m your herbal blend and your medicine man,
you see, I emerge from unharbored islands of survival,
I come with a vision, blinded to the tribe,
and my heart and legs ache to present it,
your smudged, trembling hands will reach out as I see it,
and your eyes broaden as I hand my dripping liver to you,
no, not my heart, hearts are just.. so cliché.
You can have my liver, I wont be processing anything unclean,
but in a moment, the tribe will shove moons,
oils, chemicals, yellow, green, blue with acid-stained flourescents,
so you may need the second filter.
But, no matter what they put you through,
you’ll always be that northern light,
the aurora borealis is just the reaction to too much energy in the atmosphere,
meanwhile, you take the worst, and you turn it into something beautiful,
colors from amethyst to ruby cruising lightspeed through my aura,
and there you stand, covered in the filth of the tribe,
and the sheen of authenticity shines through the cracks,
soon enough though, there wont be any more tribes,
and when the earth splits, there will be molten lead,
sprinkling space with shining, obsidian stars,
You and I will stand on the moon to witness the explosion,
and laugh as we walk away into the next creation.