
Tasty little plants
Make the world spin round
And lift him across the plain
To never come back down
Except when he awakens
Beneath a large oak tree
That earlier spoke a riddle
The answer.. was it three?
Now so still and silent
Absolutely a bore
In fact, nothing seems as colorful
As it was before
So standing up and shaking free
The remnants of his flight
He ponders over the Head Trip
That lead him here tonight