Here's a little something for the dream weaver mafia
there's nothing on top o ya so whats stoppin' ya
this is a form fever sleep puzzle
you haven't solved me and you won't
genetically engineered to baffle and elude
wrapping myself in tubes wires and chrome
there is indeed no place like home
hap-hazard fermentation this liquid abandon
band-aid on my eye and magic sex cannon
pulsing and gyrating like a piston from heaven
the optical illusion of a dragon you imagine.
metallic beads spin and rotate
the vigorous trembling you wont hesitate.
My machine has little but sensation
My machine is gravity driven
My machine is a powerhouse of freedom
My machine...
Tastes like Remedy.
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