Hallucinations of a Premature Schizophrenic.

Make me a newborn, draw me these pictures.
Tell me a story, throw me some gestures.
Make them emotional, but don't make me cry.
Don't force them through me, I don't want to die.

A tangerine toad, so slimy in my throat.
He's singing me lullabies, and riding in his boat.
Sliding down my tongue, he's stirring a storm.
He tastes like honey, and dried chloroform.

There are crimson pennies, each with four sides.
Wearing hairy smiles that spit cyanide.
We dance in the gas, we dance in the smoke.
And they fill up the room, while I deliberately choke.

Ants on the ground, pants on the ground.
I feel pretty good with these ants on the ground.
Crawling beside me, crawling inside me...
Painting itchy patterns that thrive in the ivy.

Milky arrows fire around in my eyes.
Glazing red pupils with dyes pure white.
Each one drives a course, to the nerve they belong.
Setting them alight, and singing sweet songs.