Poseidon

The room floats with the smoke,

Playing fantasy feeds the eternal yoke,

God is real and He aint no bloke,

This plume of ash reminds me of coke,

I twist and turn on this bed of oak, 

Memories and conscience with milk I soak,

Milk is the tender hearts I broke,

Opinion and opposition are but a joke,

Baby, baby,

Maybe we'll make it,

That ton of money I'm sure we'll rake it,

That chain of opression,

I know we'll break it,

That windy winding road,

I know we'll snake it,

That feeling of deadness,

I know we'll shake it.