Hey you the mother of my little one!
My hookah needs to sputter in hydra.
My mustache needs to be twirled up.

It was all so easy to blow every mind.
My acids be alkalized neural network
My mind has neurons fired dorsally.

I am bilious acids rising to the mind.
Hey you the mother of my little one,
You may not be difficult of  a gender.

My pictures on walls shall float easy
And in theaters over cigarette smoke.
The shadow play is not that difficult.

We blow our minds on easy religion.
It is difficult to keep going in desert.
Dust storms are blinding a horizon.