I water the plant my head in a slant,
High hopes for a sustainable living.
No fertilizer, just my poop and piss,
At night to it, I sing.
The gods are lonely, their faces homely,
This is what happens to a rusting rot.
We need to move on, eat fungus and so on,
Sleep comes easily to a proustian cot.
I spit at the sky, doesn't go very high,
Gravity is always a spoilsport.
But if your arms are weak, or you're a freak,
The balls are rarely on your court.
Chased a mirage, then it chased me,
Just an optical illusion.
My head's in my ass, it always has,
I shit through my yap for fun.
This world is about to end,
No I'm not fucking with you anyhow.
This shit's true, your fucks are through,
Just a few years from now.
The clouds are thick, a wilted wick,
It's getting really dark in my mind.
Maybe a fainting swoon, if it happens real soon,
An idea help me find.
