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