Sixteen Tons of Dogma

Well distant early warning
says, “The Blues are on their way!”
Your e.s.p. deception almost
had me fooled today,
but I drove here in my karma
and I smashed yours along the way!
See, I was late for my fate,
and time was thick today.

Well I’ve got to get some exorcise,
my Spirit’s running low.
The vampire and the succubi have gotten me in tow,
so I’d better get my crucifixed
and spit a shine on my halo,
‘cause I’ve got sixteen tons of destiny
all ready set to roll.

I took my crayons to a seance
and I drew the Queen of Cups
She said “If you don’t know the law, you’ll have to make it up”,
so I said, “Demonic possession
is nine-tenths of the law,
and I’ve got this itch that needs a’scratchin’
by some devil-woman’s claw."

Way back at the astral-body shop they’re gassing up my rig,
the fuel-trend is now anti-pain though pro-pain once was big,
yeah they are putting in new chakras
to bounce that sixteen-ton payload,
so that my eighteen wheels of fortune
will be soon burning up the road.

I forgot my catechism,
catechism got my tongue,
so I smoked pranayama cigarettes and coughed up one more lung
and then I played akashic records
until they warped in space and time, then picked some grapes of wrath so righteous
off the un-clinging Divine.

Well its so fun to be mental, funtobementalism’s in,
I have spent my life contriving an original sin,
but the Devil filed a lawsuit,
it was a copyright case,
so my sixteen tons of destiny
had a setback in the race.

I dialed up the Dalai Lama for our daily dialogue
and I detailed my dilemma of a dogma dealing God, but he kept calling me Delilah,
and dug me with his transcendental drill,
then he injected me with Mercury
‘til my aching truth was filled.

I’d trade a million inno-dollars for a hundred innocents
to fill the u.f.o. collection plate and pay for the event
of the second coming sequel
to be broadcast both dead and live,
while I sideswipe a satellite,
sixteen tons in overdrive.

Reincarnation! Holy ‘vaporated Ghost
is crossing Channel-Five between two bodies’ flesh wrapped coasts.
I have been down this road so often
I almost know myself by now,
but once I finally get the “who” down
I’ll need the “where and when and how”.

Then some soma smoking, cattle roping Buddha knocked me down,
some sumo-wrestling, comet-rustling, rodeo clown
hog-tied me with my kundalini
and then weighed me on the music scale,
He said “You’ll need a harder highway
for them sixteen tons of mail.”

In some fifth-dimension living room the angels watch t.v.,
scanning seven-billion channels of
sub-reality,
they’ve got this one
cult favourite,
its a kind of slapstick comedy
all about the dark night of the spirit,
and the lead looks just like me.

Well, rolly-polly poltergeist,
yeah, Casper goes to bat
up against the Holy Trinity
in a strange ménage-a-quatre,
him and ectoplasmic Gumby,
Wendy Witch and Doctor Strange,
while my sixteen tons of destiny
shoot the rapids in God’s veins.

My shaman, Shamus was ashamed
and said "You need a vision quest!",
so I checked into his perspiration lodge/optomitrist's
where I fasted 'til I puked up
the purest form of hydrogen
and then found out my spirit animal
is just a homeless dude named Glen.

Sixteen tons and what do you get?
Another incarnation, but your not home yet.
Hey Siva don’t you call me, 'cause it just won’t work.
They crushed my soul in the Robot Church.
Amen.