We like to smoke pot. We like it a lot.
Our small eyes are tearing for what we have not.
The nice pipe is here. A lighter is near.
I won't become freaked out, fear not, sister dear.
We miss the blue sky. It is cold, we will cry.
Our being mind is waning and we now know why.
We want to feel warm, yet outside the norm.
We want to be a cradle-held, and then to be reborn
