Acid Trips and Corporate America

The orange molds itself from the inside
It tells me that I am broken.
The mice come,
Running.
Through wormholes and portals I wait
Cutting toothpaste until finally the world isn't so grey.

The storm is speeding towards her and the clouds were never this grey
You seek a place to hide inside
But through wormholes and portals I wait.
We are a machine that is broken
Stitch us up before the blood stops running.
Now your gGod is telling me to come..

"Come"
He is just a spot of anonymous grey
Running.
Inside his paperback books.
We are a mistake spun from gGods paper cut pinkies- broken.
Thus through wormholes and portals I wait.

Through wormholes and portals I wait
The mice come
But their legs are broken .
I am cutting toothpaste until finally the world isn't so grey
I'm sitting still the faster I run.

The longer I sit the faster I run
But still, through wormholes and portals I wait
Eating myself from the inside
"come"
She says, "let me rest on your tongue until the world isn't so grey"
(again) I am almost broken.

These bones break
Under the weight of an absent run
The world is once again grey
Through wormholes and portals I no longer wait..
Your neighbor will come
Spitting. There is nothing inside.

We are all broken, trying to run through a world where the sky is ever grey
The horizon waits for us to come as she is unseen
And we are blocked by a barrier of flesh.