Lost soulers banging their heads against the dead endings of botany.
Time to cross the street.
Walk the sunny side of the irony.
Walk off the big deceit.
The straw men manufacturers design their mental crimes out behind the barn.
Hell doen't exist yet but its opening up soon.
There's a grand opening for the guys who read the news , and their sources of course, who feed them the yarns.
There, you can see the balloons.
And feel the party atmosphere,
corporate scientistics have just patented the color blue, and they're celebrating and motioning for you.
Messages come across the floor of the ecosphere,
calling Johnnys and Jills to come home, to jump the queue.
Paying attention to instincts,
Thinking thru the sacrosanct.
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