The mind wanders, In forests of psychedelic green. Clay hippos are climbing trees. Why are they wearing hats? Hippos don't wear hats. (You are falling, girl.)
The ground is made of golden stones, But I can't feel their rough faces. I am floating above, Rushing fast. The air is soft and bright. (You are falling, girl.)
I see the day's visions, Burned on my memory, Like the blood vessels, Striking my closed eyes with x-rayed lightning strands. I see all that I have seen. (You are falling, girl.)
Disconnected thoughts appear, I am by a waterfall now. It is blue - bluer than blue, Verging on the ultraviolet. Perhaps it will fall of the edge of the world, Streaming into the galaxies. (You are falling, girl.)
The forest is back - Lush and verdant. Where have those hippos gone? I am still a gyroscope, going nowhere, So how have I returned? (You are falling, girl.)
There are no answers for me tonight... ...I think I am spinning now. Gravity has lost interest in my bed, Hurling me into the vortex. I am a neutron in the centre of an atom, At the very centre of the electromagnetic spectrum.
The age of reason has fallen unconscious. Let the light-show begin. (,.)