Yes, yes
Sitting in this spray-painted basement
Candlelight as base [?] eight track
Some old school [?] computer speakers
Independent of a pag, the rest of my half grand
What I could afford but I wasted
I could only afford ten dollars, hey though, cannabinoids are alien intelligence
I inhale it, my breath falls, exhale it

Comfortable down here with the spiders, the webs, the silence
Spray paint in an ambiance, spirits
Spirits speak loudly, espеcially through hypnotic induction
Like in Xanax and Ambiens
Opening up portals to еnergy, transpersonal and transient
I'm on a tangent again, it's obvious I haven't got a point
But that's not what I'm here to make and that's not what I'm making
Words and words as means to an end is so fucking...