you can tuck it on the inside
you can throw it on the floor
you can wave it on the outside

like you never did before
you get the diplomatic treatment
you get the force fed future

you get the funk after death
you get the wisenheimer brainstorm


i'm in touch with your world
so don't you try to hide it
i'm in touch with your world

and nobody's going to buy it
it's such a lovely way to go


i've been lying on your feathers
you keep talking about the weather
i'm a psilocybin pony

you're a flick fandango phoney
it's a sticky contradiction
it's a thing you call creation

everything is science fiction
and i ought to know