headed for a head with the fungus in.
its true what they said 'bout smellin' somthin' pungent.
its a fact what ya read 'bout bein' able ta change da world yer in.
they said its in the spilled coffee on the blank sheet, stareing at you
and looking up at me.
here lies an idea, that awakened a sleeping muscle
and then stabbed it like in the throat, and stopped it once more from beating.
the hum was coming from the other room,
think it was the kitchen.
think it was the fridge.
think it was under ground and struggleing to dig itself out.
i squeezed the tea bag and felt the hot mashed leaves press through my fumblein' digits.
some of the orange-brown drops thought it better to miss the cup and hit the white counter top.
the next day it was there, like when your mind is rebirthed through some kind of faux-revelation,
it was the sun, and it was the son. only child and a wrestlein' with something called faith.
the lines were perfectly clear. i licked my lips, and my eyes began to wonder. my hand was already dead.
i became weakened by the week's end...it was so so juicy. i chomped in, i stepped out.
and by the time we got it right, the whole thing was a thousand feet under ground,
heading straight for the hot-hot center.
now are you gonna tell me that that wasn't a revelation.
that tea stain is who i am.
and now i think it is who you are too.