V1: My dreams are nightmare-scapes/ with tight ladies/ bare-naked masturbating in pink satin with hands in all the right places/ my face is/ a Jackson Pollock or Ralph Steadman original/ fucking is love/ french kissing is digital//// A post-apocalyptic vision written in crimson skies/ A fire inside horizons drippin' with sinful pride/ an ocean tide overseen by a prince of lies/ and the queen of the demise of the American dream/ so when it dies//all that's left is me as an island/ clutching to the breast/ of my own imagination/ I imagine manifested as destiny/ dressed as a lady, in a Mercedes Benz/ made of paint/ drippin' with sex and fame/ this is where I went/ when I went insane/ when my head was empty/ left my brain/ all that's left is pain/ I attempt to piece together a frame/ of the memories remaining after meth-vapor staining my subconscious/ am I unconscious right now, or am I awake?//// Take a picture/ it'll last longer than my recollection/ of what happened/ all I'm left with is my hand on my erection// 10 seconds ago I was president of every ghost and demon/ that one was wet-- now my belly and leg are cemented with semen////

Hook: When I sleep, I don't count sheep, I count ferrets/ Screeching as they creep in pairs, or packs of six with kids and parents//

Keep it secret from the children, cuz' this sentiment will scare em':

If bad dreams are fast women, I have em' by the harem////

V2: Vaguely familiar faces/ in such unfamiliar places/