Morning sun begins the day 

Mother's child has gone away 

Locked inside the game that they taught him all to play 

Closet city sleeping pretty tired from the day 

And if he leaves the tiny porch light dim 

He'll keep the dogs at bay



Snotty little brat he plays 

Never puts his toys away 

Breaks the ones he's used if they don't sparkle anymore 

Dollies in the playhouse kissing 

All their little heads are missing 

Chop their tiny hands with this thing 

That's what daddy bought them for



Red and white's turned blue today 

I laught to dry the tear away



Sitting in my ceilings face 

This boiling rainbow webbing places 

Smiles soft anger feeling shapes 

Of mouths and hands in sonic scapes 

Fingers spanning psychic burning 

Black sabbath record turning 

Pools of vision, understanding 

Forms absorb to keep from laughing 

climb the walls, half inside them 

Other side, air is thin there 

Friends inside pull me to them 

Cannot keep from laughing, laughing



Ripples from the portholes making contact 

Center bending circles 

Growing echoes of each other 

Float reflections of this covered consciousness 

Inside this eggshell 

Masterpieces scattered not well spoken 

Yet still undertaken 

Tiny streams of orchestration 

Flow into this fisheye car ride 

Leaning close to catch his good side



Tiny streams of orchestration