I didn't think there would be a time,
When I pressed her against my lips,
And let the feeling of floating take over,
But I love it,
And my lungs will go black,
And my singing will suffer,
But I no longer care,
I know it's bad,
But I don't want to stop,
And when the people who tell me to stop,
Have dropped acid three times this week,
Who are they to say what's bad for me,
So we hide in a shed made of doors,
And load bowl after bowl,
And smoke a mixture that will kill us.
