Psychedelic Den

There's a sandbox in the house,    
It feels like lying on the beach.  
Boys, I just had a thought, maybe    
If we just listen and do not teach.    
    
There's a teepee etched on the mind,    
From within my psychedelic den,    
By reliving one's childhood,    
It might make us wise men    
   
Piano tuning garnished with sea salt,    
Sinking down even deeper,    
Down with the non-believers,    
Rejected by the crazy gatekeepers.    
   
Add a pinch of snorting pepper,    
Minds are suddenly lighter than dark.    
While sitting on the same pile of sand,    
As a pack of squatting dogs bark,    
   
Yelping pups protesting    
In Downtown Main Street.    
On hearing musical witchcraft,    
With a constant zombie beat,    
   
Placards loudly demonstrating    
'Bout a propaganda communist war.    
While rushin’ to eat a smorgasbord    
Of paranoia, that's for sure.    
   
A preacher man was telling us all,    
God jumped off, with a man on the moon.    
I'm climbing four walls of my bedroom,    
I won't find a way out, anytime soon,    
   
The voice in my head, tells me,    
"I have to be even more bizarre".    
For too many lonely years in bed,    
I finally woke up, plucking at my guitar,    
   
Back on the stage, in beautiful California,    
In the greatest surfing town.    
Still getting nasty flashbacks    
Oh, how LA can weigh you down.