(AKA: The Sun's a Ray Gun, The Sons of Reagan)
Some people say they can survive on light. That they need no food. No water...
I am all about mindfulness, but now that's a mindful. Can it be we're all so sidetracked with fly acts (like hitting a birdie); with that our brain sells, that we don't realize what's really mind fuel or that we contain selfs, like we have only brain shells and no braincells within our strained helms, plain to view in our drained cells - gray, matterless.
My tools aren't hammers, or nailguns, or napalm spray. It's what I have in this brain son, that makes my day. I'm off, I'm out, I'm about to eat some sunrays instead of playing with rayguns in some run n gun gunner, you know that summer's always funner with some great sun taste, so let these drapes retrace like grapes to raisins, facing the raised summer sun's sung and praised young grace as stunned sunrays raise hunt some place.