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Penal Colony
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Organic
My memories come from the back of a bus
Altered people floating through my home, my home, my home.
Begging for more, spouting hate, spouting hate about LBJ
And, oh yes, they were gonna change, change the world
And you can be organic all you please
And you can wax nostalgia for what those before you had
My memories come from a room of strange smoke
And being left all alone, alone, a lone.
A saline sister to keep, there was nothing ever there to eat
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Waited for the vendor to make her rounds, her rounds, her rounds
And you can be organic all you please
And you can put a flower in a gun but it won't change a thing
Organic
Organic
Organic
Don't want to be organic
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