Moon Sammy walks across the floor
Below the floor, there is a wall
Behind the wall, there is a chair
Moon Sammy knows the chair is there
But that’s okay, that’s okay, you can do that – if you’re wound up, full of tension, incoherent
Your mouth is buttered with lies; you ask why, but you could call it enigmatic
All your thoughts about the chair are full of static
Automatically, your mind goes down the stairwell to the chair
Your body says Moon Sammy, can you come back? Strum it
Moon Sammy washes in the sink
Below the sink, there is a drain
The drain goes straight into the sea
The sink itself is porcelain
Obsess yourself with causality. The information you hear is a loophole, technicality
Behind every object is a mathematic; an obscure substance infused with a kinetic force
Energy, an obscure conscience shoots a gun at the feet, the world dances
Babylon, mystery, mother of harlots, and all these abominations of the earth
That sits on many waters, drunk with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus
And I wondered with great admiration
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