Friday, May 22, 2009

The Pull

We’re just belief machines, program however you like,

record the right programs, and just repeat, except I can’t, because I must compete,

be better than the last minute, my record will never be kept skipping,

I’m playing right through to the end, straight to oblivion,

got pain that remains through ibprovin, proof I need the token,

cannabis is the state trigger I’m holding, pull it so I can avoid the grim reaper,

death’s door constantly lingers, so I reorganize my mind to think thicker,

and smoke bongs like a ninja loves smoke bombs, until the past is far gone,

then the artic man might finally thaw, if springtime can green shoot him off,

a bright future starts with a fresh plot, a new tune and an old cough

And I don’t have the answers, or know if this will work,

I just trust in my heart and continue to exist

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