Organic - Penal Colony

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

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