Lennon, are you listening? The egg man’s at the door.
He says you finally got the order that you placed last March the fourth.
I wake up and my hair is in significant distress,
And LS Darling Alice let’s me spy her looking glass.
But the problem isn’t product, it is probability,
And Dr. Greg, though paramount can’t diagnose my malady.
Someone get me out of my head.
I refuse to be convinced that everybody’s blood is red.
They say the path to hell was always paved with good intentions
And all the plans of mice and men are nothing but pretentious.
I get down on my knees to reaffirm my sad transgressions
Straight to the loins of a brown haired boy in a reprobate confession.
Somebody call the exterminator, my mind’s infested.
A cocaine Angel gave me a smile, now I’m invested.
There’s a bottle in my pocket and the prescription isn’t mine,
And a gaunt, coat-hanger baby tells me everything is fine.
One pill makes you bigger and one pill makes you small,
But the little white pill that makes me chill is the one that I like most of all.
So someone get me out of my head.
I refuse to believe a single word the holy handbook says.
A compendium dashed by the men of the sash doesn’t hold me in concern
When the parish gets high on communion wine and liturgy in turn.
Toby Hemker - Poetry 