Psychotropic dreams

I’m tired but wired, the voices say I’m fired
Christ, you know they’re going be my ruin
My physician’s part mortician and a little bit patrician
But they tell he knows what he’s doing
Where there’s a will there’s a pill at least it stops the screams
But it still gives me the chills, my psychotropic dream

I know my baby loves me, and she surely is above me
when I see her walking into the room
She got the doctor’s on it, going to leave me catatonic
when they cut me up with their spoons
She my voice of choice the others can be mean
But we all rejoice in my psychotropic dream

My mother is an agent of the CIA
My head tells me she’s dangerous but my heart won’t say
Tomorrow’s just another day . . . psychotropic dream

They’re cooking my brains in a microwave
They tell me that they’re sorry besides there’s no other way
What’s a little boy to say? Psychotropic dream



© 2012 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved