The Vegetable Market

It is a cold day, clouds overcast with a gloom benign
Stepping out from a reality of degenerate logic
Of politics and pitiful people
The games of choice and command
Deadlines, looming deathlines catch up
All for the sake of money, fucking money
This is corporate life as we humans made it

We created it, fucked it, analysed it, fucked it and reported it
Fucked it, screwed it, delay-delay- delayed, and reported it again
For want of something better to do, yet without a fucking clue
We still keep on creating and fucking, delaying till we all die

The mind revolts, waiting to throw up this insanity
But the circle is vicious, feeds on itself and keeps on
Kicking us where it bloody well hurts us most
To let go off this labyrinth of lies, to live
And not dredge along the dirt and deceit
Where people don’t mind you being crazy for a while
And that is how the time to toke arrives upon us

We scored it, crushed it, cleaned it, rolled it and licked it
Fired it, smoked it, puff-puff-passed, and smoked it again
For want of nothing better to do, yet no longer feeling blue
We still keep on toking and smoking, tripping till we’re high

We have a world we call our own. Here
The floor is paved and the steps cool to touch
The vegetables speak a language of sense
And the smoke flies along the designs of thought
Words flow freely, music reveals the sanctity of the soul
It is here we engage in the love we forsook
In the world of pain we abandoned for want of a trip

The vegetable market accepts us as its own
The people call us The Ganja Club
And we know... we know...
It is here we find our peace
In a plain and pathetic world