1, 2, 3, 4! Sonic the Hedgehog's on a pogo stick, I hope he doesn't trip into that damned orifice of yours, oh we're always bleeding from the otherside, samurai on the inside, shaman on the out, we can't go without. Guilt trips aren't what they used to be, oh, good morning glories, we fall for the glories of man, we can't fall just yet, falling through portals of ecstasy, esoteric adventures are what I seek, we've all descended from the meek, we're all underneath the freak, gung-ho about ourselves, the sacred plant brings us together, sail across the sands, we must keep up with the demands of the enemy, a shotgun to the face is a real nice way to wake up, we belong to endoscoping, ready to fall apart in the exoskeleton, she's got big melons, unsteady with the bags on her back, unwieldy sword, unable to escape the broken word, go forth young adventurer, swing your sword of darkness, unfeeling of the light, what makes it right? What makes it wrong? It's all in the song, that's all we've got in our packs, so we need our sacks, sacks of five leaf clovers, like star crossed lovers, it makes me feel good all over, to be able to sing the word of the devilish lord, oh, when we call him forth, he brings us cookies, cookies and cake, is it so wrong to bake our little hearts out? Calvin and Hobbes are calling me out, I should answer the call.
