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A Crack Into My Past It’s a long way from Tipperary, and a long way to the gentle rain forest that surrounds me. Rich boy poor boy what have you got? Another day older and deeper in debt! Hey Joe, got some reds? Maybe some window pane or black dots? My head is getting smaller and I want out. Down on Crescent Street I looked all over for faces. They weren’t there. All at the Moody concert. I was there too only I didn’t know it. “Why do we never get the question When we’re knocking at the door With a thousand million questions About hate and death and war…” The gods of the magic mushroom don’t haunt me any longer, nor does Timothy’s words of wisdom (well they were back then). The long road wound in many different facets and places; from dirt to macadam to runways, and I have to wind up here. My road wasn’t less travelled. It was the only one I knew. Hey buddy, got a roach? It’s on the back of your belt buckle? How neat. So the border cops won’t notice eh? Some days I wonder. Some days I wonder… |
Additional Notes:
Lyrics from the Moody Blues
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