What's in the bag, man! I'm on the hunt for the perfect fix and there is little time to waste. Don't give me distortions, illusions and droopy fixtures. I'm not searching for spiritual lifts or empathy, compassionate conversations or time lapse. I don't want to run for miles, hair wild and pupils hungry. I have no use for dancing, talking, fucking or sleep.
Don't get me wrong, man! I will take every substance, discovered or otherwise, as fuel for my quest. Up and down and through the roof if needs must. I think this is the kind of high you need to search out in the hidden, forbidden places. I am driven to distraction for want of this fix, man.
I will visit life's dankest crevices and run my tongue down every terrible ravine. With a gnawing patience I'll sit waiting on any clue for millennia in the most lonely forests. I will put the torch to a thousand cities and scan each handful of ash with a desperate, roving eye.
I want pure white light, instant and unending and I am willing to pay any amount.
What's in the bag, man? I suppose we will see soon enough.