Chained to a laboratory bench, on my third column,
Midnight, the blood moon injects red rays of Sunlight,
Reflected from her surface, sister Moon’s face is,
Alive, through the glass I suddenly realize that I lost,
An hour, sand through the hour glass I hate this,
Prison, my father’s dream, not mine.
Fifteen years at the laboratory bench and I wanted out,
The chains held me there, with fear of being without,
Money or shelter, I clung onto a profession that I had,
Earned every right to do, Ph.D. in chemistry, they all said,
“Good boy, wow you are smart, so cool!”
Little did they know this was my father’s dream not mine.
I am Eagle and a mouse, I want to soar and burrow,
Experiments are too slow, I want to astral travel,
Perhaps chemistry can help me do that, not to say,
That I will just pop acid, but an appropriately timed,
Trip to Pine Ridge, South Dakota may grant me,
Access to Peyote, the spirit molecule, and therein,
A way to reveal a path forward, in tune with nature,
You see I hate modern technology, I yearn to return,
To the land and live close to my Mother’s body,
Gaia, earth, is an abused old shrew in the minds,
Of the technologists, rage against the machine,
I am a bull on parade, a new world is coming.