As I lay me down to sleep
on a woolen cloud, bedlam,
I am in the middle of craziness,
On me, the Witch is playing tricks
with violet piff slipping from her lips,
Contact high, fly through the nothingness,
She must be puffing bliss from Elysium,
Ghost leave the Tree Mausoleum
to toast to the new Rabbit of the Blue Moon Sabbath,
Snap out of it, a rabbit of my intelligence
knows when I’m being fooled by a farce
but my intuition is brewing and I feel like
I’m beginning to see things in the dark
that I didn’t notice prior to this,
My head’s on fire like Richard Pryor,
Oh, why does that Wolf look so Dire?
Look how it’s mouth is perspiring,
desiring to make my life expire,
So in flight or fight reaction
I lash out with a rabbit kick,
Cracked that vicious Wolf in the kisser,
turns out it was a Mirror,
now smashed and broken to bits,
I look through the frame
and a Witch is taking hits from a Hookah
with a spooky look in her eyes,
Her reptile smile screams silently for my demise,
before she spoke, she vanished in a flash,
Left a smoke plume
So I set forth with a torch into the unknown,
As I lay me down to sleep
on a woolen cloud, bedlam,
I am in the middle of craziness,
On me, the Witch is playing tricks
with violet piff slipping from her lips,
Contact high, fly through the nothingness,
She must be puffing bliss from Elysium,
Ghost leave the Tree Mausoleum
to toast to the new Rabbit of the Blue Moon Sabbath,
I stepped through right to the other side,
Glide into another realm,
Suddenly every belief that I’ve ever held disintegrated
while new data got integrated
into the frontal lobe of my bunny brain,
Now I can’t shake the feeling like I’ve been here before
and now I’m returning again,
That seems a bit odd, if there’s a God,
I’d bet my bottom dollar that bastard’s insane,
Who could conceive of a creation so bizarre?
Every star that shines overhead at night, smaller than an electron,
Sight is relative,
The speed of light is a tortoise in the midst a drunken crawl,
What if Infinity was, is and always will be infinitely small?
As I lay me down to sleep
on a woolen cloud, bedlam,
I am in the middle of craziness,
On me, the Witch is playing tricks
with violet piff slipping from her lips,
Contact high, fly through the nothingness,
She must be puffing bliss from Elysium,
Ghost leave the Tree Mausoleum
to toast to the new Rabbit of the Blue Moon Sabbath,
In the Forest of Ghosts, they swoop and stare,
Their sinister looks makes me wonder if a cooked hare for dinner is their wish,
oh Lord, I pray my destiny is not to be laid out on their supper-dish,
Suddenly a flash of teal, I feel unreal
as all the fields fill with the warmth of the Sun,
I hear the Spirits slither and rattle and hum,
They sing and call me “The Breed,
The King of Nevidi, Saviour of the Galinee,
The reason the breeze weaves through the Trees as they sway”,
They keep saying that I’m King Gregree, sent to beat The Eye
but I feel I should disagree but the truth keeps seeping off the words they speak,
The Beast is me, I’m beginning to freak out,
Oh no, the floor just gave way, look out below
*
