Mary Jane

Mary Jane, there is a farmer hoeing out the chaff,
And in its place he plans to measure and grow,
the one thing to which they can't say "No",
he makes lots of dough.

From a mourner's tears and rancor springs an au revoir,
to spittled cauldron's ales he's spit upon his lap.
now the mourner's never going back to the drinking game,
Feels no shame.

Mary Jane smoked with my peers; it blows my mind.
When we see her hue within our eyes,
lined with cerise red tracks.

Mary Jane, there is a liar who can cower past,
the pain and shock she misinterprets as routine.
She vies to leap above the tears she's seen,
with some atshishi.

Mary Jane smoked with my peers; it blows my mind.
The more we swish the more time flies,
in slumbered dreams dialed back.

By helter-skelter bins a riddled lover frowns about,
the witty verse his belle inked years ago today,
for in those words the belle chose not to say,
that she may be gay.

Penny Lane, the farmer makes our smother costlier,
for mourning rancor always pays to kill the grim.
And the liar's and lover's grin is the farmer's gain.
All the same.

Mary Jane smoked with my peers; it blows my mind.
When we see her hue within our eyes,
lined with cerise red tracks.

Mary Jane smoked with my peers; it blows my mind.
When we see her hue within our eyes,
Mary Jane.