| Multicolored microbus
|
| Plowing over rugged terrain
|
| We’re jacking the radio
|
| Passing the afternoon train
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| Around the roses
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| She showed us hyacinths and sage
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| Gold-plated garden tools
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| Sunlamps, and it’s all the rage
|
| Stay low to the ground or they’ll sniff you out
|
| You never know what you will find
|
| When you go out of the blackness
|
| Into the great big sky
|
| Supercollider
|
| Shooting inside your mind
|
| Gather round the gas tower
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| Don’t it kinda look like a bong?
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| I heard it backwards
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| Hidden in a Pink Floyd song
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| Stella radiata
|
| It’s got to set your mind at ease
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| Spinning on the tire swing
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| Flying like Tarzan through the trees
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| And back to the bus when the sun goes down
|
| Try to aim it back into town
|
| We’re riding out of the blackness
|
| Into the great big sky
|
| Supercollider
|
| Shooting inside your mind
|
| Supercollider
|
| Shooting inside your mind
|
| And coriander grows along the banks
|
| Where we go walking at night
|
| Creeping slowly over the grounds
|
| We tiptoe round the garden
|
| Trying not to tramp it down
|
| Stay low to the ground or they’ll sniff you out
|
| You never know what you will find
|
| When you go out of the blackness
|
| Into the great big sky
|
| Supercollider
|
| Shooting inside your mind
|
| Supercollider
|
| Shooting inside your mind |