His head is not his memory :
Visions coming, one, two, three …
Trickle up, trickle down
Wearily, we come unwound.
Sensoria, sensoria, sensoria, sensoria.
In hard times, hard thrills
Reaching for the chosen pills
Dragnets will pull you in,
Tell you that you’re deep in sin.
Sensoria, sensoria, sensoria …
† SENSES . REACHING . FEVER . PITCH †
PSST. And hey : zappin’ this as a de[a]dication to you, Textbeak!
"Do-Do-Do-Do Right … Go to church. Always works."