Tie-dye shirt and all black sweats.
Can hippies have depression, too?
Or should we all just be much too entranced by the magic of burning grass to understand what it feels like to live in a world of dying thoughts, or thoughts of dying.
I apologize, I can’t quite get my thoughts together.
Forgive, me.
It must be the drugs.
These broken dreams can break the promises of life.
The promises that broke the wall and built the fence that still can never ever be climbed, that still can never ever be conquered...
and even though, they are just fences, we can never seem to stumble our way over them because we won’t dare to stumble near them...
because we can’t ever even see them...
I’m thinking...it must be the drugs...
See, we can’t jump,
no, no,
we can’t get off the ground,
no,
we can’t even run,
we can’t take steps,
we can’t even move,
we can’t sit still...
but we go everywhere...
...and we go nowhere...
At the same time...?
It’s gotta be the drugs.
cause see, we’re stuck in this time,
and this time...
when it goes by...
I pray...
maybe we’ll go with it...ya know...?
or maybe we’ll go against it...
or maybe we’ll do both...
...it seems, to me...
like it’s gotta be the drugs, eh?
It must be the fault of all the flamboyant Conceptions Created this Chaos, this Desolate Destruction of Emotions that are Ever so Evolving into Freedom! Freedom!
oh, we Give it all away to God for it is He that Hath the Heart to Heal, but, see,
I am not I...I can never be I...so I...Just Jot with no Joy...
so I just jot with no joy...
I am no king of kings...
I am no lord of lords...
I am only me...
but I’m guessing
that can only be
because of the drugs, right?
