There’s No Doubt In My Mind That

He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum

What The Chronics Are - Or Most Of Us - Are Machines With Flaws Inside That Can't Be Repaired, Flaws Born In, Or Flaws Beat In Over So Many Years Of The Guy Running Head-on Into Solid Things That By The Time The Hospital Found Him He Was Bleeding Rust In Some Vacant Lot.

It's Time To Move On To The Next Step In The Psychedelic Revolution. We've Reached A Certain Point, But We're Not Moving Any More.

No, My Friend. We Are Lunatics From The Hospital Up The Highway, Psycho-ceramics, The Cracked Pots Of Mankind. Would You Like Me To Decipher A Rorschach For You?

But If The Strength Ain't Real, I Recall Thinking The Very Last Thing That Day, Before I Finally Passed Out, Then The Weakness Sure Enough Is. Weakness Is True And Real. I Used To Accuse The Kid Of Faking His Weakness. But Faking Proves The Weakness Is Real. Or You Wouldn't Be So Weak As To Fake It. No, You Can't Ever Fake Being Weak. You Can Only Fake Being Strong. . .