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.
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