Something's gotta give

I'm working on a dream. Over a green hill a shepherd searches for a sheepskin cloaked messiah. Soft rain hurts as it falls; the Dali-purple-blue sky continuously drips contradiction. There are no bridges, no pathways — no Hershey Chocolate lampposts illuminating the frustration. And the freak beaner breaks free of persistent time.

My swan has sung

Lost in my mind I search in vain for the freak beaner going crazy in the breakdown. Freakadefacosious for sure, freakishly freakaloopazoid frozen Zen is all too material. Heed the heavens. Seal the deal with marmalade, the freak beaner has regurgitated regurgitations regardless of regalian refried-rights — imposed or deposed.

You want it you got it

All the little things are big things when size doesn't matter; it doesn't add up or down. Sideways is at the front of the line forming at the back. Take care not to care. The illusions illuminating beyond belief pale beyond comparisons made yesterday after a stroke of genius stroked out. 

Smoke on the water

The dream continues interrupted. Marilyn devours Joltin' Joe's slamming salami. Through a turquoise haze Tommy Tourette bellows … fuck … shit … galloping gourmet goo goo dolls. Jung laughs. Mao mopes. Mae West heads south; still everything she does is magic.

Fire in the sky

Shiny happy people are crying. They have no will to be weird. Their thrill is gone. Out of sight of the messiah, they practice parallel parking with broken headlights — crumpled Cadillac fins. Oh those shiny happy people with smiles on their faces, brownie-mash on their braces, hurry as they take their time in a rest stop full of soul food fanatics eating perception.

Memories

Get out. Get out. Something says leave just leave. Out the door. Out the door. Just leave. Disappear. Disappear. It's getting fucking weird over the green hill. Oh-oh. The longer you are far from me, the more I drift ...

When it all was over

We had to find another place …

[you know the riff]