Terence McKenna

The eschaton, the past is before the future on it's knees
Begging for a culmination, a grand cessation, a pandemic disease
For behind the lines of now the flesh turns putrid and bitten by fleas
Itching at sores bitching and moaning
Counting all the missing teeth
Looking at a complex vortex of synchronicity
Looking for a hexagram, tossing coins, consulting the I Ching
It's all so Freudian this slip and slide of symbolic imagining
The master martial artist baits the hook with good posture and a wedding ring

With a common sense well polished by some irradiate garçon
We all sit cross-legged on the floor drowning in a pure sine-wave tone
Don't you care about magic
For God's sake don't you care about your soul
Don't you care to learn about what the ancients used to know
Looking at your palm lines, star signs looking at yourself in the mirror
And you begin to wish your clairvoyant visions were not as clear

Well you cracked your fortune cookie
Which shook the cosmos wide
The candor of your consciousness was gleaming in your eye
And in a Volkswagen Beetle you downshifted your gears
And the paradigm went with it
And a foghorn was wailing in the air
So you lifted your hand to your ear