Amphetamine Salts

Hail, oh hypoactive attention deficit, With a brain that's raveled in tumbleweed, Inundate thy mind with alchemical medicine, To satisfy thy folly's focus dressed in tweed. Suck the soma from these amphetamines, Which waken your wary thoughts, Add a mix of dimethyltriptamine, And in the senses thou shall be caught. Light becomes a lucid liquid, A river of retinal inquisition, And for the cognizantly gifted, A litany of lack in controlled contrition. Sound is but a moving matter, That meanders in the rings, On your head which absords that chatter, Of what the plasma sings. Taste is touch and touch is smell, And all are in your seventh chakra, An eye inscribed in the Book of Kells, Which binds below to your basal sacrum. Now grind the gears of the mental cogs, Which spring forth from shaken action, Taken from the growing fog, Of your addiction's satisfaction.