| You dig /everything in life / everything you’ve seen
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| Everywhere you’ve been / you have been thinking all of the time
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| Everything that’s happened to you / has been made or construed to brood
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| At least passively in the life of the mind
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| You dig / memory is such / nothing gets away
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| Everything you touch / finds a place / deep inside your inner clutch
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| And it seems gigantical scenes / pouring in from your outer dreams
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| Wrinkle mental stuff in your own skully hutch
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| And once you think it / naught you can do to stop / you’ve simply got to cop
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| Nevertheless the thought can really wig you
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| Like sometimes I’ll / go for a run / there’s nothing I expect to run to
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| When all of the sudden the thought begins / a feeling like in my brain there
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| lives an alien / And it gets funky then
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| Then I think / maybe I am just a little man in a space capsule
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| Riding 'round in a balloon / deep down inside my head
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| (Some big old giant’s head — dig?)
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| I’m driving the running / the motion sequence of running and pushing and
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| Pumping the oxygen deep in the plumbing / sumping on to some-way
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| Some-how keep on moving the giant / keeping him pliant
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| Right now an arch-typical synap-tically of light / a firing anatomical hit
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| Is right now getting down / dig?
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| Shooting a rapid-fire sparkle-chemical in the atmosphere, here
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| & thinking that I’m thinking of thinking / only makes me think a kink
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| In a way / that only goes to cite that Descartes was right!
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| You dig /everything in life / everything you’ve seen
|
| Everywhere you’ve been / you have been thinking all of the time
|
| Everything that’s happened to you / has been made or construed to brood
|
| At least passively in the life of the mind
|
| You dig / memory is such / nothing gets away
|
| Everything you touch / finds a place / deep inside your inner clutch
|
| And it seems gigantical scenes / pouring in from your outer dreams
|
| Wrinkle mental stuff in your own skully hutch |