Hyper-shift cykotelekinesis over drive hippie shit...
yeah, that's the way we cool, because we rock.
And when the guitar strums.
Strumming---
Bling.
Super duper uber waves vibrate within us.
The long-haired guitarist rips onto the stage,
and we're camping there just checking the sights.
A-hah, it's the festival didn't you know?
This new ride in town, the caravan,
the kids we be followin' are all the rave,
you funny knave.
I be ki-kidding, and scared as we are, rollin through.
That all we do...
Cause we are this generation,
stand up when the music goes: pop!
And wave your arms in the air.
Millenium has passed; no shit went down.
Give us about three more years.
Are the Mayans right?
Candlelight, the fireflies are waving back and forth,
baaaack and forth, back-and-forth, oooooh!
(the one man in the middle point up and says "ooooh!")
[Except for the images I'm painting,
are you inspired too?
I create this artwork for you!]
Extremely possessive child of greed,
why do you come this way?
Except for to be turned down by the children of god?
And to be wondered why, why?
Forthcoming are the sinners of Ezekiel,
when they walked into the sun and died,
because the air was so god-damned dry.
And will the oceans still be safe, when we return?
When we turn back into those impish creatures and re-return.
To the ocean of life,
but...
For now, for now, for now...
Us pinko-hippie socialist freaks keep rocking on.
Because we rock on...
And we rock on...
And we rock on.
Kid, we rock.
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