I really don't know how to express what I feel,
just this way I get and I call it "subreal."

See there's most pistols than people in this "great" USA;
City lights so bright ya can't tell the night from the day.
There's zillion-dollar rockets they sending to Mars,
while poets with empty pockets sleep under the stars.
Every single year is the hottest ever been known,
and Frankenstein crops are being everywhere sown.

I don't know to express this way that I feel;
it's this trippy blues I call "subreal," subreal

There's prison terms for all who've LSD sold,
while everywhere TVs practice mind control.
The population explosion's like cancer I'm told,
but this Christian white house won't give out birth control.
over America's best melancholy takes hold,
but we got to shake it, get angry and bold.

This is the time for world revolution:
let's obey Mother Earth's laws
fuck the U.S. Constitution!!;
let's storm the Bastilles
free bloody Father evolution!!

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