Just Another Day of Flying Free
Am I dreaming this or is it for real?
I just got to Woodstock and I’m sure that I’m lost
Here’s a crowd of robot-people I’ve never met before.
Please tell me; what’s the fucking deal?
It’s a real weird party without a damn host
Look at all their phony plastic faces
Blathering around the kitchen table
With cocaine spackled nostrils to boost
Oh wow! Tell me something
Is there acid in this punch?
You look like you’re melting
Into something made for lunch.
Oh Jesus! It’s that Rasputin priest?
Crazy-eyed, howling, spitting beast?
I’m slipping and sliding off of the mat,
Into the witch bitch’s brewing vat
Now I’m falling off the damn roof
Sliding back from whence I came
Is this my dream of a cloven hoof
Where I’m exhausted, broken; spent and lame
These goddam pills are fucking killing me
They make me so dull I can’t even count
But Riding the Tiger gives me The Scare
Afraid I’m too terrified to dismount
Riding the Tiger to the Gates of Hell
Straight to my Death, pell mell!
Peter Mark Wells-Garnett © 06 February 2017