could use some psychic surgery
under the cold white bright lights
that slice through you like a ma-chet-e
a little bit of absent healing for the absent minded
manufacture up some crisis apparition
to tell me it’s going to be ok, be ok be ok
a metamorphosis of a mountain of superstition
set the earth back on its axis and planes
don’t give me no evil eye
I got enough paranoia for both of us
the seventh house setting up in the sky
use your psychometry to figure out what’s going on
the lost art of divine divination
follow the course, trust the process
a sensation sweeping the nation
I could use some autosuggestions to make it all better
my sixth sense is out of order
tonight at the rising of the full moon
heading for a clinic in mexico just over the border
