Don't sit on Alices mushroom, fly agaric, amanita muscaria,
Your eyes deceive you and I bleed that putrid red red wine.
I can see through the masquerade of reality, le fantome est real,
which mind are you using? mine? yours? I cant read it.
The mournful voices in my head laugh at you, timidly, but you cant hear.
They say the same thing over and over, but in another language.
So I can't tell you what... ha ha ha I can't tell you what.
If I had to guess though they'd say stop sawing on your wrists,
unless youre a lumberjack, "and thats O..K...." but,
Solar heat rushes through my veins, and I can barely feel you,
If I look like I am blending into the canopy ignore me.
I am probably not real anyway, If I aint though...
Who are you talking to?