Yes, yes

Sitting in this spray-painted basement

Candlelight as base [?] eight track

Some old school [?] computer speakers

Independent of a pag, the rest of my half grand

What I could afford but I wasted

I could only afford ten dollars, hey though, cannabinoids are alien intelligence

I inhale it, my breath falls, exhale it

Comfortable down here with the spiders, the webs, the silence

Spray paint in an ambiance, spirits

Spirits speak loudly, espеcially through hypnotic induction

Like in Xanax and Ambiens

Opening up portals to еnergy, transpersonal and transient

I'm on a tangent again, it's obvious I haven't got a point

But that's not what I'm here to make and that's not what I'm making

Words and words as means to an end is so fucking...