After the third testosterone-fueled misperception

The dance floor loses its appeal and luster

lacking a care in the world

to quit tripping out of two left feet

How many sober souls does it take

to woah-man a lightpost?

Enough to make my senses spin

Who needs lysergic acid

when the ambience of the cosmos

is omnipresent

So lose yourself

Drop the ego while you're at it

Trust it

You will thank them in the long run

Spirits ascending

Free will run riot

under control

as far as they eye can see

No attention seeking

with unpaid attention

Peaceful slumber

As the tawny moon

Kisses our eyes goodnight.