Sat a hindu hippie fixed in a trance
Hair was long and dull as the skies
Above him flew a hoard of flies
Smelled so bad, but did he care?
Didn't look at passerbys, just sat there
Had a little joint and he smoked it dry
Till his eyes turned red and he was high
In bliss he did whisper, his voice was hoarse
He was in the front of the percepting doors
Like a wannabe guru lost in time
Where money is power and peace is crime
Raidrops fell and he looked above
And yelled at the sun to spread the love
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