Psychedelic summers,
colors spinning against the sun.
Song for Zula lighting up the night,
desert stretching on all right.
A tiger that rises from a burning flame,
vivid colors and a whispered name,
and a joint passed from hand to hand,
a beautiful girl sprawled naked
across the sand.

A killer come to call, we take
his hand and kill him with our touch.
He asked too much, just our luck.
Now fleeing the cops and chasing trees
through the empty city streets
through the heart of summer,
the runners going door to door.

And you’re asking for more.
You ask me if I love you. You dare.
No, I can’t. You ask me what I want. 
I just want to get drunk. I want
to get wasted on alcohol and
laced weed and LSD. I want
to trip. I want
to look over my shoulder and see
psychedelia looking back at me.