I don't comply with stars or horoscope
Esoterics makes me nervous
My sixth sense is deaf as a wall
Only stoned
I can be Zen.
I guess from the birth I suffer
From chronic lack of chakras
So from my spiritually humble flat
I don't see higher spheres - who can tell
Maybe I'm unstable like a loose table
Or just pissed-off on everything fake,
On all those hysterical women
That read my fortune over TV screens.
I beg the whole hysterical tribe
Of stigmatics and shamans...
Get your hands off my wheel!
Get your ass off my seat!
I travel without GPS...
GPS from the skies.
Gentlemen tarot experts
And local dealers of sepulchral life,
I know one day I'll be sorry for not kneeling,
But until that judgment day comes...
Get your hands off my wheel!
Get your ass off my seat!
I travel without GPS...
GPS from the skies.