It was a mundane daydream, crystal clear December skies towering all over me, & you were whispering fears I couldn’t believe like time travel’s possible on psychedelic drugs. Put me under pressure, I’m calm, feed me to the wolves but I won’t belong, says it’s a mole, it’s a beauty mark, we both know I took all the wrong pills. There’s a bullet in my head, I’m fine, spinning like a record, must be 45, shooter on the roof, but I won’t hide, we both know I took all the wrong pills, at exactly the right time. It was a midnight brainstorm, you woke me up just to tell me the earth was sleeping and we were just it’s dream, you said forget the future, the glass half empty, you packed your bags and walked away from me, if there’s a crack in the ice, it grows, if they use trick dice then we’ll never know if its just bad luck, or we don’t know, we don’t know when to fold, if all your drunk promises come true, then you’ll be the shooter up on the roof, and I’ll have a 45 in my head praying for the flood to come again and wash away all these pills.
Gypsy Death StarSan Buenaventura (Ventura), California
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