Metaphors written in psychedelic ink inside my mind like a projector slide show of insanity. The flying pig in the boiling sea chastises me, I must uncover the cosmic key or the bull will smash all the inventory. I refuse to be a diamond in a sea of glass or Alice through the looking glass, or stare to long into the abyss and see it staring back at me. The golden heart has turned to red the grapes of wrath are pressing out the blood of innocence and I must sound retreat in psychedelic ink or become lost in illusions, delusions of peace. 4
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