You can tuch it on the inside

you can throw it on the floor

you can wave it on the outside

like you never did before

you get the diplomatic treatment

you get the force fed future

you get the funk after death

you get the wisenheimer brainstorm

i'm in touch with your world

so don't you try to hide it

i'm in touch with your world

and nobody's going to buy it

it's such a lovely way to go

i've been lying on your feathers

you keep talking about the weather

i'm a psilocybin pony

you're a flick fandango phoney

it's a sticky contradiction

it's a thing you call creation

everything is science fiction

and i ought to know